


Once Upon Another Time

by reve_silencieux



Series: Once Upon Another Time [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama & Romance, F/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-08 10:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6850855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reve_silencieux/pseuds/reve_silencieux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Sara finds Neal first.  What she does after that... well, Neal is pretty charming, and he's nothing like what she imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first AU, and I'm just going to apologize right here and now. I'm not sure how this idea came to me, but it came pouring out and instead of shelving the insanity, I kept going. People have tried to reassure me that it isn't crack, but it **IS** AU with a slightly sci-fi element, which I actually try to take seriously.
> 
> At it's core, it's a romance and if you know me at all, I write for Neal and Sara. So enjoy the ride!

It was dark, cold and her butt had lost all feeling three hours ago. But Sara could feel the electricity in the air. Tonight was the night. She could just _feel_ it. Flexing her foot and rotating it slowly, she tried to wake up her numb leg. She had the patience of a saint, her coworkers told her, at least when it came to a stakeout, but otherwise, she was as impatient as hell when it came to tracking down the bastards that thought they could just steal priceless art because they wanted to.

Sara had been after this particular annoying thief for over a year now. He was good, she hated to admit, but she knew she was close this time. Come hell or high water as they say, she was going to get her man tonight. 

_Le Pianiste_ had been stolen from the Channing Museum last week, and it had all the signs of James Bonds, as the FBI had nicknamed him. From the silent entry to the ghost like quality he exhibited, never showing up on any camera. It had, of course, been insured by her company, Sterling Bosch, just like the Raphael that he’d stolen fifteen months ago. Most people, however, did not realize that the painting was even more valuable when paired with the tiny draft sketch that belonged to a private couple, Patrick and Janice Winters, in the Hamptons.

Which was why she was waiting outside their mansion, freezing her ass off, hoping that James Bonds would show up. It wasn’t insured by Sterling Bosch, but she didn’t care. If she could catch him, then she would get the painting back after she had the police arrest him.

Sara wasn’t stupid though, she wasn’t going to try to take him down herself. No, she was equipped with a camera sporting a very expensive telephoto lens, determined to finally get a photo of him. All the FBI could tell her from the video collected from numerous security cameras on the streets was that he was about six feet tall, thin, and had dark hair. Fat lot of good that did her. Sure, her coworkers thought she was a bitch who took no crap from anyone, frequently pulling out her baton and stun gun, but that was only to intimidate, never actually something she _used_.

Besides, she had no legal standing to be here or to grab him. Not that she even thought she was capable of taking down a man, with or without a stun gun. She had a gun at home, but that was for peace of mind, living in New York City. Her friend in the White Collar division at the FBI, Agent Peter Burke, with whom she’d worked on several cases, had taken her to a shooting range to learn how to handle it. She was comfortable with shooting the inanimate target, but she wasn’t sure how she’d react if someone actually broke into her home.

So needless to say, she was only going to sit in her car all night, armed with her camera, frozen ass be damned. It was just her luck though that an early cold front had come in tonight. Knowing the weather, she'd be wearing short sleeves in a couple of days, but tonight she froze.

An hour later she was slapping her thighs, trying to regain feeling when she thought she saw some movement at the front gate. She was parked down the street in the shadows of an old oak tree, hoping the neighbors wouldn’t call the police on her. The houses were fairly well spaced apart—huge multi-acre lots with land to spare surrounding the palatial homes. Picking up her camera, she zoomed in on the gate and saw a figure, dressed in black, start climbing the gate.

Bingo.

She grinned and snapped a few shots even though she still couldn’t distinguish anything. As he maneuvered over the top, she kept taking photos, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face.

Something flashed in the moonlight as he went over and finally as he came down, she caught his face.

“Gotcha,” she muttered, feeling smug and vindicated, thrilled to have been right that he would go after the sketch as well.

She waited as he snuck around the house and out of sight. There was a chance he could set off the alarm and the police would come, but she knew it was highly unlikely. The owners weren’t even in town, since this was their summer home, so there was no one inside to stop him.

If there was one thing she did appreciate about James Bonds, it was that he didn’t use violence and he never would have attempted this theft if the owners had been home. Even Peter Burke (who she suspected actually enjoyed the chase) agreed, because Bonds was smart and he made sure to never hurt anyone. In fact, the bastard acted like it was a game most of the time—a challenge for him to tackle and see if he could get away with it.

The bonds he’d forged, or at least the FBI suspected that he had, had been declared impossible to forge. Even more maddening was that, mysteriously, several of the paintings he was suspected of stealing would show up two to three months later, carefully packaged and left at the homes of museum curators and employees. There had even been a note once that said, _‘I had fun, did you?’_ addressed to Special Agent Peter Burke.

Aside from the bonds and a few other daring thefts, he seemed not to care for the money. For a few months, there would be a rash of thefts, then he disappeared. A year later he’d show up again. The FBI had finally attributed various thefts to him over a range of five years, and possibly some even earlier. However, those earlier ones were harder to prove, since they were clearly beginner jobs and the MO's had changed.

He had come on her radar with the Raphael, and since then Peter Burke had gladly let her read his file. It was thick, and while they knew his MO, there was no way to tell what he’d go after next. They’d been waiting for him to strike again, and even though it irked her that he’d stolen another painting insured by Sterling Bosch, it made her itchy—and grateful to have a reason to go after him again. They had long ago recovered the Raphael, but this time, she wanted to catch him _before_ he returned the painting.

A few minutes later she was rewarded when he came back around the house. She started taking more photos as he walked towards the gate, hoping for clear shots of his face, not knowing what would come out. As he neared the gate, he pulled his messenger bag over his head and carefully slid it through the bars. If she had room to move (and if she had any feeling in her legs), she would have danced for joy. 

He had the sketch.

A minute later he was over the gate and strolling down the street, bag slung over his shoulder once more.

Sara knew she should call the police, or Peter at least, but a little selfish part of her wanted to find him herself. His photo might not be enough, but it was a start. If she could identify him, she might be able to find where he lived, and wouldn’t it be ironic to steal from him for once? Oh, she’d let Peter know and have him arrest him with the sketch, but the painting was all hers.

*~*~*~*

Sara stared at her computer screen hours later when she’d finally made it back to her apartment in New York. She had several shots of him, but even she wasn’t sure she could identify him in a lineup. It was dark, with only a little moonlight, and he moved in such a way as to make it impossible to get a clear shot of him straight on. She realized with dismay that there had been cameras along the fence and he’d kept his face away from them and her at the same time.

Disappointed, but not ready to give up, she studied him carefully. He wore nothing distinguishable, which wasn’t a surprise. Slowly flicking through each photo, she stopped when something bright flashed on his wrist. Thankful for the 20 megapixel camera that allowed her to zoom in exponentially even from a distance, she grinned when she saw the silver metal bracelet that peeked out from under the sleeve of his black jacket.

She didn’t know if she was happy or upset that he’d been sloppy enough to wear it. Nothing might come of it, she knew, but it almost tarnished this image she had of him, a nearly perfect thief that you had to admire for his tenacity and skill.

Oh, he was going to get what was coming to him all right, but that didn’t mean she was ready for the chase to end, either. It was highly invigorating, and she was thrilled to finally have something on him. However, she was doubtful that she would ever come across someone like him again.

Zooming in until it was blown up on her screen and clear enough that it wasn’t just a mess of pixels, she tilted her head in puzzlement. It wasn’t jewelry, or at least nothing she’d ever seen. Not that many men wore bracelets. It was flat, about half an inch wide and had a small circle etched on it, barely distinguishable from the rest of it. She went to the next photograph, hoping to see more of it, and grinned when she spotted more of the bracelet. This time she could see a small symbol, two small interlocking circles, and wondered briefly if it was a medical alert bracelet.

Pulling up her internet browser, she searched for the next hour, scrolling through pages of pictures and trying to match the symbol to known allergies, disorders or anything of the sort. She nearly missed it, and who could blame her at four a.m. in the morning.

Sara’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened in shock at what she saw on her screen. It made no sense, yet at the same time, absolutely perfect sense when she thought about what they knew of him. The timeline, why he disappeared every year…

And Sara knew exactly how to find him.

*~*~*~*

Two days later, after doing plenty of research, Sara sat in the lobby of an unassuming office in midtown. She’d called for an appointment first thing after finally catching a few hours of sleep. While she would have preferred to get in that day, she acknowledged that having the time to research had allowed her to understand the situation better. There was plenty to find online, since everyone was a conspiracy theorist these days, worried about the government’s intrusion into their privacy, but what she needed could not be found online.

“Ms. Ellis?”

Sara looked up and smiled at the gentleman standing at the doorway to the inner office. She stood and followed him back, down a hallway and into a small office, decorated in dark woods and modern furniture.

“Ms. Ellis, I’m John Fuller, and I’m a counselor here at _New Generations_. Thank you for coming today. Have you been able to read up on the process or do I need to fully explain it for you?” He pasted on a wide smile, one Sara had seen way too many times, and knew he was as much of a con as the ones she chased.

But she smiled back anyway and shook her head. “No, I’ve read everything on your site.”

“Excellent!” He pulled the paperwork she’d filled out and glanced over it. “Now I see that you’re single, so you’ll have to use a donor. You can have your pick, of course. I’ll let you go through our database after we take your blood and run a few other tests. We still have to screen for genetic disorders, as I’m sure you’re aware. If you have anything, even recessive, we might have to narrow down the pool of possible donors, I’m afraid.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

He smiled again, and paged a nurse. She was led away to another room where they took a blood sample, swabbed her mouth for DNA, and had her pee in a cup. Then they left her in a small room set up with only a computer on a small desk. The nurse quickly explained how to filter down hair color, eyes color, interests, skills, and other features before she left her alone.

Sara stared at the screen, a little overwhelmed. There were over five thousand men in their database, the nurse had informed her. But it was a lot smaller than the population of New York City, and she was one step closer to finding James Bonds.

Shaking her head, she quickly got to work, filtering by race, height and hair color. She didn’t know how well they categorized interests or talents, so she started the slow process of flipping through one by one. An hour later, after a few possible suspects, she finally found herself staring at him. And she knew without a doubt it was him. It wasn’t a mug shot, where they faced the camera with a forlorn and sometimes angry expression. No, James Bonds was smirking at the camera, and damn him, he was gorgeous.

She wanted to pinch herself. After all this time, all the fruitless hunting and worthless leads, she’d finally found him.

But in all the time she had chased after him, she never would have guessed he was a Breeder.

*~*~*~*

Sara went home with a printout with his picture and information, as well as a few others to appease Mr. Fuller. She couldn’t help but stare at him, torn between wanting to jump him and slap him for all the aggravation he’d caused her.

All donors were anonymous, so she wasn’t lucky enough to get his name. He seemed a little familiar, but it wasn’t because of the photos she’d taken a few days ago. Reading through his bio, it mentioned he had an art degree and she wondered if somehow she’d run across him before. She tried to think back to all the private showings and exhibitions she’d gone to over the years, and thought it would be ironic if Sterling Bosch insured some of his work.

Walking to her closet, she pulled out a box that contained years of brochures and leaflets from all the galleries and exhibitions she’d attended. Halfway through the stack, she found him.

Neal Caffrey.

There were a few pictures of his work and she had to admit, he was good. He leaned toward Impressionism, but was a master of everything.

With a name, it wasn’t hard to find him online. He had a showing once every year, or thereabouts, and was never seen the rest of the year. The critics loved him, and raved about his modern take on the greats.

 _Well, sure, what else do you expect when he can forge a Matisse and not be caught until it’s taken down for cleaning months later_ , she thought wryly.

The timing lined up with the thefts and her new found knowledge that he was a Breeder.

Her research had explained the whole process. With a growing population, an epidemic of teenage pregnancy and other problems, the government had moved to a breeding program over fifty years ago. Modern science had pioneered medical 3D printing and genetically modified embryos. All babies were now born without the capability to birth children. Men had no sperm, and women had no eggs or even a uterus.

Oh, people could still have sex, and now they could do it without fear of an unwanted pregnancy. Most sexually transmitted diseases had been eradicated or could be treated fairly easily. DNA taken from two people—it didn’t matter if they were both the same gender or not—would be inserted into artificial sperm and eggs to create an embryo. This embryo would then be implanted in a breeder.

Breeders were men or women who had been surgically implanted with an artificial uterus which was stronger and more durable than a natural one and genetically created to match the breeder, so not to be rejected by the body. They lived in their own ‘colonies’ to stay away from the public and out of sight. The government claimed it was for the health and safety of the breeders and the babies, but Sara saw through that pretty quickly. Even though it was considered normal these days, and she herself had been bred through the program, she saw it for what it was—a way to keep them under their thumb and prevent anyone from taking off with a baby.

Having a baby was expensive now. You had to prove you had the means to support and raise a child, and then pay for the entire process itself. There were insurance plans that covered it, and discounts for certain professions—teachers, law enforcement and the like, but it still wasn’t easy and affordable to the masses.

The breeders themselves were volunteers, but most people did it for the money. They got an allowance, three meals a day, and a roof over their head. In exchange they gave up their bodies and their life for months at a time. The websites explained that a breeder was pregnant for nine months, then breastfed for three months and finally got three months off, before starting the process all over again. Volunteers signed up for five ‘cycles’ as they called it.

It was hard to align the idea of James Bonds, the thief and conman, with someone who would volunteer to breed. He had a college degree and a moderate amount of success in the art world. But she supposed anyone might feel the need for a backup plan or something to fall back on if times were tough. Perhaps he signed up before he went to college or after when he didn’t know if he could make it as an artist.

They were called starving artists, after all.

The timing though, matched up perfectly. During those three months that he had off, he went around stealing and doing whatever he wanted. He’d been to Paris, Madrid, and Copenhagen over the years, but always came back to New York.

By her calculations, he had one more cycle to go, and after that, Sara knew he could go anywhere he wanted. She had to get to him now or else they never would.

*~*~*~*

Neal Caffrey, it seemed, had an affinity for the coffee at this one little French café around the corner from his apartment. After tasting their café au lait and chocolate croissant, she couldn’t blame him. She was torn between wanting to confront him—he didn’t seem dangerous, and the worst that could happen was he could run—and sneaking into his apartment while he had his morning coffee.

She was waiting in line for another coffee; she’d hardly had any sleep the past few nights, when the choice was taken from her. The young girl manning the counter lit up and practically cooed when she looked past Sara.

“Neal! What are you doing back so soon?”

Sara froze. This was not how she wanted it to go. She was supposed to have the element of surprise—the upper hand, and catch him unaware.

“Ah, Lizzy, I’m afraid I just couldn’t go without seeing your beautiful face again,” he replied in a smooth, charming voice.

The girl giggled, and Sara wanted to roll her eyes.

“I need another coffee, to go this time. It seems I can’t pull all-nighters anymore. I almost fell asleep in my paints.”

Without giving it a second thought, Sara turned around, feeling bold and possibly stupid, but she had to take advantage of the situation.

“You know most artists are usually inspired by what they see in their dreams. It would probably do you good to get sleep, unless you enjoy looking like a Smurf.”

Neal’s eyebrows shot up, and she had to laugh when his hand went to feel his forehead. When he felt nothing, she grinned. “Gotcha.”

He relaxed and chuckled softly. “That you did. I confess, I have fallen asleep more than once and woken up to find I was my own canvas.”

“Now that would be a fun show. Painted artist. Or would it be a self-portrait?” she mused out loud.

“A bit of both, I think. I tend to believe I am what I paint,” he paused and pondered this. “Or is it the opposite?”

She cocked her head to the side. “An artist’s art is always a part of him, no matter the source of inspiration.”

Neal smiled, and this time it felt real to Sara. Not a slick, fake one that she imagined he used all the time to con people. “That is true. Are you an artist, yourself?”

Sara shook her head. “Afraid not. Minored in art history though. Art is more of a hobby, I suppose.”

He looked ready to say something when a voice called out to her and she had to turn back around to place her order. She stepped to the side to wait for her drink while he ordered and observed him. He was even better looking in real life than in his picture. Dressed in a polo shirt and casual pants, he looked young and carefree. There was no hint of the confident, brazen thief that left playful notes and sent birthday cards to the agent who chased him.

Her name was called and she accepted her coffee, carefully walking over to a table by the window, trying not to slosh the hot beverage. She regretted not ordering to go, but figured it was better to stay at the café now that she had blown her element of surprise. It would do her no good to try and follow him, knowing exactly where he lived, and while she wasn’t above flirting, she didn’t want to appear clingy.

Quite honestly she was flummoxed.

“Now what does one major in when they minor in art history? Please don’t say accounting, because that would just be sad.”

Sara looked up surprised to see Neal taking the seat opposite of her. She blushed, and immediately chastised herself. This was not a date, or anything close to it. She was here to recover a painting.

“Business—insurance, actually. Sorry if that disappoints you.”

He shook his head and gave her a short ‘tsk.’ “It does. You could have done so much better. I think art is more than just a hobby for you.”

Sara opened her mouth then stopped. What did she say to that? It was the truth. She had wanted to major in art history, go study abroad in Paris, work at some of the greatest museums, but her parents had told her to get her head out of the clouds and aim for something that would pay the bills.

Neal’s face softened. “I’m sorry, did I say the wrong thing? I can’t help it—art is my life. It’s hard for me to think of a nine-to-five job in an office.”

She smiled weakly, and shook her head. “No, it’s just—you’re right. I love art. My parents, however, thought it would be wise to have a degree that could land me a job and a roof over my head.”

A pained look passed over his eyes, but it was gone in a flash, replaced with a sad smile. “Parents. They always want what’s best for you, I suppose. But sometimes you have to do what you want to do.”

Sara got the feeling that his parents didn’t agree with his life’s choices either. She wondered if they knew about his extracurriculars. It wasn’t likely, but if his parents were anything like hers, then an art degree probably hadn’t made them happy either.

“Sounds like you have experience. Did your parents not approve of you becoming an artist?” She picked up her mug and sipped her coffee.

He shrugged. “Don’t know, and don’t care. My dad died when I was three, and my mother didn’t care enough to pay attention to me after that. She died when I was fourteen.”

Sara blinked, and had to keep herself from blurting out, _Is that why you did it? You needed the money?_ But she knew better, and took a deep breath. She was confused. He stole for the challenge, and returned the paintings. Yet he’d volunteered to breed. Maybe they paid for his college.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He took a long drink of his coffee and set the cup back down. “But enough about that. How would you like to see some of my work?”

Her coworkers would never believe her. She was being invited up, and all she had to do was find the painting.

A smile spread across her face, and she clutched her mug tightly to keep herself from shaking with excitement. “I’d love to.”

“I’m Neal, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Neal. I’m Sara.”

*~*~*~*

Neal lived in one of those old converted warehouses. It was a true studio loft, with a bedroom tucked away in the corner, and a small kitchen off to the side. The main space was filled with easels, and art supplies. While the art she’d seen online had all been in the style of the masters and impressionism, the paintings she saw now were of vast landscapes and even more beautiful. There was a wistful and dreamlike quality, in styles both abstract and fantastical. She saw pieces of Paris, London, and other far off places in settings that could only be conjured up by someone who’d been there and remembered them fondly, yet at the same time had something else to say.

“Wow,” was all she could say when she walked in.

As she walked from painting to painting, she realized that there was a little lost boy in all of them. He’d acted out, taking control of his life in the only way he could—by traveling and stealing, and painting what he wanted. For three months his life was his own, and this was the result.

She glanced up and saw him watching her, hands shoved in his pockets, looking vulnerable and asking for approval. It didn’t jive with the mental picture she had of the con man. She continued to peruse his work, then moved to the paintings lined up on the floor. There were several stacked in front of each other, and she carefully flipped through them one by one. At the last one, her breath caught in her throat.

“ _Le Pianiste_ ,” she whispered. She’d found it.

“I was going to return it next week.”

She dropped the paintings and spun around. He stood a few feet behind her. “What?”

He laughed softly and held out a hand. She took it cautiously and stood up.

“I was going to return it to the museum next week, along with the sketch. They belong together.”

“You knew,” she accused him.

Neal shrugged. “It clicked after you told me your name. Insurance. Love of art.”

She stared at him, bewildered. “And you just let me come up here? Find the painting, why?”

He walked over to the large windows that took up a majority of the far wall. “Your parents stopped you from pursuing what you loved. Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you had done what you wanted?”

Crossing the room, she stopped next to him and looked out at the city. “I’d be working at the Met or maybe running my own gallery.”

“Instead you’re chasing after art.”

She turned and looked him in the eye, ignoring the jab. It wasn’t meant to hurt, but she knew it was the truth. She couldn’t think about that now, though. This was about him. “But you made it. You’ve shown your work. Why steal it? And only to return it?”

“Because I can.”

“Bullshit.” 

Neal’s eyes widened in surprise. “Excuse me?”

She shook her head and crossed her arms. “You love art, I get that. Some people have to own a Picasso or a Monet because that’s the thing to have, to look important to all their friends. But you truly love art. And you give it back. It’s more than a hobby or fascination or a challenge. You want attention, sure, but you want to let it be known that you _can_ do it. Why? Why put yourself at risk? Go to jail? You think just because you return it that they’ll be thankful and forgive you?”

His beautiful blue eyes, and yes she’d noticed them earlier at the café, darkened and his jaw clenched. He backed away and pointed at her. “Don’t even try to understand me. I have my reasons. You might not have gone after your dream, but don’t take that out on me. I’m trying to do what I want for once.”

“And what is that, huh? To be the world’s most renowned thief who can’t even make a living at it?” she threw out bitterly, advancing on him.

“To _live!_ ”

She stopped and stared at him, startled.

He ran a hand through his hair and gazed out the window. “To live my own life. Do my own thing, without someone telling me what to do.”

“You didn’t volunteer, did you?”

Neal let out a low chortle. “So you know that too.”

“It’s how I found you. The bracelet,” she replied quietly.

He raised his left hand and looked at the offending piece of metal. Shaking his head, he dropped his arm to his side in disgust. “Figures.”

“Mr. Fuller at the New Generations clinic now thinks I want to use you as a donor, by the way. Said you were quite popular.”

Neal’s shoulders shook as he laughed and he finally smiled again. “Glad to know some people like me.”

“Oh, I’m sure plenty of people like you. I don’t know if it’s worrisome that there could be several mini-you’s running around this world, though. A little scary.”

He shrugged. “More artists.”

Sara smiled at that. “True. The world can always use more art.”

They stood there silently, each wondering what the other was going to do. Sara wasn’t sure what to think of him. He’d known who she was and yet he still brought her up. She could feel the pain and the longing in him, and knew he didn’t mean to hurt anyone. But she also knew Peter Burke and others wouldn’t care, as long as they’d got a conviction.

Glancing at the painting then back at him, she made up her mind. She might kick herself later, but she couldn’t turn him in, not now. “Next week? I suppose I can wait.”

He did a double take. “Really?”

It was her turn to shrug. “You’re not replacing it with a forgery, are you? So what’s the harm in waiting a few more days?”

Neal grinned. “I can always send it to you, if you’d prefer. You’d still get your finder’s fee, right?”

She mockingly glared at him, but wanted to laugh and smile. He was too likeable, damn it. “Yes, but don’t think we’re even. Do you know how long I hunted for you and the Raphael last year? How long I sat in the cold, freezing my ass off the other night waiting for you to show up?”

His eyes sparkled in amusement. “How about dinner?”


	2. Chapter 2

**_Six Years Earlier_ ******

_Neal crossed the stage and shook the Dean's hand, smiled and accepted the 'diploma' they handed out to everyone. It wasn't real—they wouldn't be mailed for a few weeks. Not that it really mattered to him. He didn't have an office to display it in, and he wasn't applying for a job that would need to see it. He walked down the steps at the other side of the stage, and back to his seat. Everyone around him was grinning, waving to family and friends, excited about finishing their college degree and looking forward to their new careers, their new lives._

_Not him, though. He had a knot in his stomach that had only grown in size since he received his 'orders' at the beginning of the year. In one week he was to report to the Long Island Reproductive Center for his surgery._

_While most students went off to college to go off on their own, to have the whole college experience—fraternities, parties, and to generally have fun—he had seen it as a countdown to his own personal jail sentence. He’d tried to enjoy his time there, but it was hard when everyone around him planned and talked about their dreams once they finished college. An art degree wasn't something that guaranteed you a job, but their worlds were wide open, allowing them to go wherever they wanted and do whatever they wanted to do. He had no such options._

_But he had made the most of his four years. He’d painted and showed his artwork at the college gallery and networked with local museums and curators, hoping to catch the eye of someone who would take him on later._

_His life had changed, however, when he’d met Mozzie three years ago. The man was like no one he'd ever met. Eccentric, paranoid, goofy and all around weird. But he was the best friend Neal had ever had. Mozzie wasn't a student, far from it, and while he championed education and knowledge, he abhorred organized institutions that he claimed tried to condition you into a mindless drone to fit their purposes._

_Mozzie taught him about the finer things in life, and together they ran cons that gave Neal a high like no other. For years he had looked at his life as not his own, a pawn that had no control. But Mozzie showed him a way to claim a part of it back. He'd never told anyone before that he was a breeder, afraid they'd look at him like a freak. Not Mozzie. Oh, he ranted and raved about the government and all the conspiracy theories regarding breeding, but he didn't fault Neal. No, Neal was a victim in Mozzie's eyes._

_They traveled the world during the summers, living high and enjoying life. The bonds he'd forged allowed them to stay at the nicest resorts and eat the finest food._

_Kate was the only other person he'd told, and even that had only been a few months ago. She had her own dreams of being an artist and seeing the world. Visiting Paris and the Louvre, Florence and the Uffizi Gallery, the two of them together, taking the art world by storm. They were young and in love, and Neal had no illusions that it could last, especially once he told her the truth. It's why he held off until the end, not wanting to lose the one innocent and real thing in his life._

_She'd been shocked, of course. Didn't talk to him for days. But finally she came back, and told him that it didn't matter. They’d gotten drunk off some cheap wine and made love all night. It had helped, nearing the end, having both Mozzie and Kate's support. The three of them made plans for the last six months of freedom after his surgery. A whirlwind trip through Europe, the best museums, beautiful sights and relaxing nights, and all without a care in the world._

_It was the only thing getting him through the next week. He was scared. For years it had been something to put off, to ignore and act like it wasn't happening. But his time was up._

_After the ceremony ended, he made his way to the large English elm at the corner of the park, holding the thin mortarboard between his fingers. Mozzie stood there waiting, next to his Aunt Kathryn, the only family he had left. She wasn't blood, but as close as one could get. Kate would be celebrating with her family and meet up with him later._

_Kathryn opened up her arms and hugged him. “Congratulations. I'm so proud of you, Neal.”_

_“Thanks,” he mumbled, not feeling the celebratory mood, but knew he had to keep a smile on his face. It wasn't her fault._

_“Well, I would say congratulations, but you are now one of the hoi polloi, my friend.” Mozzie nonetheless smiled and Neal had to grin at his friend._

_They walked to the street and hailed a cab. Their celebration would be small, dinner at a nice restaurant, before he went out with Kate for drinks._

_A couple hours later after they dropped off his aunt at her hotel, he and Mozzie made their way back to Neal's small studio apartment._

_“It's not too late, you know. I found someone to take care of your problem.”_

_Neal shook his head, immediately catching on to Mozzie's latest plea to run off. “I'm not going to let some back alley quack of a doctor cut me open. We don't even know if it's still here.” He rubbed his neck, cursing the one thing that kept him from disappearing. The chip had been implanted when he was a kid, and who knew where it was now._

_Besides, he had a life here, even if it wasn't much to speak of. He wasn't ready to give up everything he had accomplished. One day he would take control again._

 _*~*~*~*_

 _One week later, Neal found himself at the front gate of the breeding colony, carrying a small duffel bag and scared out of his wits. He had nearly chickened out on the hour ride to Long Island, and if Mozzie had been with him, Neal probably would have finally taken him up on his offer to run. But Mozzie was afraid of hospitals, so Kate had come along on the train, holding his hand as he stared blindly out the window, drowning in a sea of hopelessness._

_Neal wasn't afraid of hospitals or needles, or even being put under. He'd been a relatively healthy boy growing up, thanks to all the vaccinations the government 'provided.' Every year he'd had routine checks and physicals, blood taken and various tests run to make sure nothing was wrong._

_No, he wasn't afraid of the surgery itself, but of what it signified. The end of Neal Bennett as he knew him, and the beginning of Neal Bennett, breeder and property of the US Government. There was no going back._

_He slowly walked up to the gate, showed his papers, and was waved in. He knew the way, all too well, having been there a few times in the past year. After he signed in, he was quickly swept away to be prepared and watched in a daze as everyone bustled around him._

_They worked with a brisk efficiency and a little over an hour later, dressed in a thin hospital gown, he was pushed into the OR._

_When he woke up hours later, he was groggy and sore. For a moment, he wondered if he and Kate had gotten drunk over a crappy bottle of wine again. But then he heard the noises of the hospital equipment beep around him and opened his eyes, remembering where he was and why. Running a hand over his abdomen, he sighed in relief as he felt the smooth plane of his stomach and nothing more. Pain ebbed though, further down. He closed his eyes, and felt a tear run down his cheeks. It was final._

_Neal curled himself up in a ball, clutching a pillow to his chest and cried himself back to sleep. He wasn't ready to face it just yet._

_Nurses came and went during the night, pushing his feet into stirrups, spreading his legs and pushing aside his penis with a clinical detachment as they checked on his new vagina. They poked and prodded and he winced as the nerve endings lit up with each touch._

_He felt like a science experiment. This wasn't normal. But modern science had changed the rules, bent them to their whims. The nurses didn't talk to him. He was just another body, another incubator to be prepped._

_They woke him up early the next morning and checked him over once more. A doctor came in and performed an ultrasound, nodding and humming before quietly talking to a nurse and leaving the room without saying a word to him. A nurse removed his catheter and IV, allowing him to go to the bathroom to clean himself up. He hobbled, his legs feeling like Jell-O, and leaned heavily on the sink when he made it to the small adjoining bathroom. Staring at himself in the mirror, he wondered if he would ever feel normal again._

_He didn't allow himself to look, or touch. The longer he put that off, the longer he could believe this was his own body. Splashing cold water on his face, he took a deep breath and walked back to his bed. There was a breakfast tray left on the bedside table and he carefully hoisted himself up. The movement sent jarring stabs of pain up his groin, and he gasped, biting his lip to keep from crying out. Lying back down, his chest heaved as he fought to breathe through the pain._

_Ten minutes later, the pain had dulled, and he pulled the bedside table over him. There was a bowl of now cold oatmeal, a banana and a glass of orange juice. His stomach rolled at the thought of eating anything, so he sipped at the juice._

_A nurse came in fifteen minutes later with a stack of papers. There were instructions on what to look out for, and what not to do. Minor bleeding was normal, but if it got bad, he was to come back. And not to worry when he felt cramping in his stomach, as it would only last a few days as his body got used to his new organ. No sex was allowed for at least two weeks and he was encouraged to refrain from any physical or strenuous activity._

_Neal had wanted to roll his eyes at that. He didn't think he could walk fifty feet much less run a marathon. And sex was certainly not on his to-do list either._

_He was due for a follow up visit in one week, and another in three months. He would start a drug regimen then that would prepare him for his first cycle. So all in all, his last six months of freedom were already conscripted, and under their control._

_She handed him some more forms and he quickly signed his name, anxious to leave. All he wanted to do was go home and collapse, and maybe sleep away this nightmare. After she left he changed slowly into his clothes and waited. Half an hour later, an orderly came in with a wheelchair and helped him in it, and again the movement sent pain shooting through him. He clenched the armrests and breathed through his mouth, telling himself it would be over soon._

_There was a cab waiting outside the hospital and Kate stood there, arms tightly wrapped around her chest and worrying her lip between her teeth. Her eyes widened when she spotted him and he could tell she was worried, nervous. He gave her a small smile, hoping to reassure her that he was okay, even if he didn't feel it himself._

_Maybe, just maybe, with her by his side, he could get through this. Besides, they still had a few months left to pretend life was normal._

 _*~*~*~*_

 _Two weeks later, Neal finally felt like himself again. His showers were quick, though, and he barely let himself touch his new... parts. It was denial, sure, but as long as he could get through the day without thinking about it, he chalked it up as a plus. Neither Kate nor Mozzie brought it up. Instead they planned their trip across Europe. It would use up the last of their resources, but Neal didn't care. It wasn't like he would need anything for the next year._

_But then one night, Kate crawled into bed with him and curled up by his side._

_“I want to see.”_

_Neal didn't want her to look. Too afraid she'd be disgusted and put off. He was a freak now, no matter how science sugar-coated it._

_He couldn't stop her, though. There was no hiding in the dark or ignoring it because it was there, and it wasn't going away._

_She pulled his boxers off and slid downward, between his legs, trailing kisses over his skin. She ran her fingers over him, sending a flutter through his stomach, and he closed his eyes, unable to watch her reaction to what she would find. She fondled him, her touch gentle yet familiar, and he felt his body start to respond. Her fingers slid further down, exploring and caressing him softly. His eyes shot open at the unbelievably foreign sensation of her touching him **there**. Everything was still so new, and **not normal** and it felt as if every nerve-ending in his body was on fire. _

_Then, quite unexpectedly, she slid a finger inside him, and he cried out as his hips bucked upward. She continued, slowly sliding her finger in and out of him, her lips still traveling over his skin. His heart beating wildly, he grabbed a fistful of sheets as she added a finger, then another, and continued carefully thrusting them into his body. Her touch awakened sensations that felt almost alien, they were so new and different, and his body was unsure of anything but the incredible sensitivity of this delicate new part of his body, and how insanely arousing it all was. His back arched and he moaned, his body still sending him conflicting messages as he rode through the orgasm, the feeling foreign yet similar._

_And even though Kate was familiar and tender as always, he **knew** , without a doubt: he would never be normal again._

*~*~*~*

Sara was out of her mind. That's all she could think as she walked into the small Italian restaurant a few blocks from Neal Caffrey's loft. She quickly spotted him animatedly chatting away with the hostess, a pretty young girl, no more than eighteen, and probably just starting college. They smiled and laughed, and she felt a flare of jealousy well up within her.

But she quickly stamped that down, because she could not _like_ Neal Caffrey, the man responsible for numerous thefts and hours of frustration on her part.

He looked up and grinned when he saw her, and excused himself before walking over to meet her.

“Sara! You made it.”

“Yes, and I'm wondering if you slipped something in my coffee the other day, because I cannot believe I agreed to this,” she remarked flippantly, trying to quell the nervous flutter in her stomach.

Neal laughed and placed a hand on her back, leading her to a table in the back corner. “Believe me, I'm a little surprised myself. I thought you'd leave and call the FBI.”

“It crossed my mind,” she admitted, as he helped her out of her coat and slid into the chair he pulled out for her.

“Well, I thank you for your restraint.”

An older woman came over just then and kissed Neal on the cheek, beaming and rattled off something in Italian to him. He responded in kind and Sara had to watch in amazement as he carried a short conversation with her. She then turned and kissed Sara on the cheeks and whispered, _“Be nice to him, mia cara.”_

Then she left, sweeping the menus away before Sara had a chance to open it and disappeared in the back. Sara raised an eyebrow and looked at Neal expectantly.

“You seem quite close with her.”

Neal shrugged, and smiled softly. “She's a good friend. Her niece, Lia,” he motioned to the girl in the front, “just started at NYU, and I've been giving her advice on what classes to take.”

“Hopefully not Forgery 101,” she replied wryly.

He laughed and shook his head. “No, she's an artist, but she prefers sculpture, and trust me, it's a lot harder to switch out something that's over a hundred pounds.”

“I won't even ask.” She picked up her water glass, took a sip and looked around. It was one of those small mom and pop restaurants, filled with knickknacks and empty wine bottles. A huge mural of the Tuscan hillside and other famous Italians sights filled one long wall, taking it from slightly cheesy to warm and romantic.

“You like?”

She glanced back and saw him watching her, a hopeful expression on his face. “It's beautiful. Makes me feel like I'm there.”

“Thank you, that's what I'd aimed for.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “You painted that?”

He nodded. “It took me an entire semester, painting whenever I had some free time. I spent a semester abroad and when I came back, Angela asked me to paint something for the restaurant. I had so many ideas that we finally settled on the mural.”

“No wonder she loves you.”

Neal ducked his head, a shy smile spreading across his face. “We've spent a lot of time just talking. She's been like a mother to me. Feeds me all the time, too. I haven't paid for a meal in years.”

Sara smirked. “Ah, so that's why we're here. I should have known you were a cheap date, Caffrey.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Quite the contrary. I could have taken you to many a fine restaurant, but trust me, wait until you have their truffle risotto, it's the best in New York.”

“I'll have to take your word on it.”

Angela came by and filled their wine glasses, and bustled back into the kitchen, leaving Sara feeling strangely nervous, as silence filled the air.

Neal picked up his wine, sniffed, and took a long sip. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “So tell me, how did you get involved in insurance recovery? I know for sure that's not a class they offer in college.”

“Ah, no, not quite.” She picked up her own wine glass and tried it, finding a nice, fruity Merlot and couldn't help but be amazed that he even could pick out the wine she liked. “I read about a Picasso that was stolen in Boston during college, and it angered me. But I didn't know what I could do about it. I knew I wasn't cut out to be a cop or anything like that. It was actually one of my professors that told me about recovery.”

He nodded. “And the rest as they say, is history.”

She cocked her head to the side and looked at him curiously. “What about you? Why did you start your... lifestyle? I mean, you're an artist. And yet you...”

“Steal art?” He finished for her. His arms dropped and he sighed. “That's a long story.” He took a long sip of his wine, then rested his arms on the table.

“You know how most kids go off to college, happy to be on their own? Get away from the parents?” He asked and Sara nodded. “Well, I had no parents. I lived with my aunt at the time, and before I left, she finally told me the truth.”

Sara's eyebrows shot up. “That you were a breeder?”

He shook his head. “No, I already knew that. But it was more about the circumstances... why I'd been signed up. So I went off to college mad at the world, really. I lived off scholarships and the money the government paid me as a breeder, but it wasn't much. I was broke. I didn't set out to become a thief, though. 

“If you walk through Central Park on a given day, you'll find people running all types of scams. Some pickpockets, others playing games like Find the Lady. It was easy to see what they were doing. I learned the tricks and decided to try it myself. It was small cash. But one day I went for big money, playing some of the guys who'd set up with Find the Lady. I cheated, of course, but they didn't realize it until I was gone with $500 of their money.

“One guy tracked me down and offered to partner up. He taught me a lot, became my best friend. Things just escalated from there, I guess. It felt good, having some control over my life.”

“The bonds?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “We needed the money. I liked the challenge.”

Sara fingered the rim of her water glass. “But you started to return the art. Don't get me wrong, I'm appreciative, just confused. If you needed the money...” she trailed off.

“I have my own set of rules. Don't use violence—I hate guns—and don't steal from those who can't afford to lose it. Then at some point, I realized that stealing art from the museums hurt a lot more people than just the rich collector who'd donated it. Over the years, whenever I was feeling down, I'd visit a museum, spending hours just walking around. I'd dreamed of seeing my own work displayed up on those walls.”

He stopped when he spotted Angela walk towards their table with plates. She settled down several plates of antipasto between them. As she took in all the food, Sara wondered if she'd have room for dinner.

“Enjoy!” Angela beamed and left them alone again.

They quietly dished out the food onto their plates, and Sara immediately knew he hadn't been kidding. The food was excellent.

“Does it meet your expectations?” Neal asked, grinning and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Caffrey, you were right. You don't have to be so smug about it.”

Neal chuckled. “Not smug, just... proud, maybe. Angela works hard. She doesn't get the recognition like the big restaurants, but she cooks just as well, if not better.”

He picked up his water and took a drink, then leaned back. “So to continue... I remembered how much it meant to me, to have the opportunity to walk amongst some of the greatest painters in history. I realized that I couldn't take that away from another kid. That's when I started returning the art.”

Sara had to smile at that. For all that he did that was wrong, he was a good guy. She could see that. And she understood that a young teenager who didn't think he had a future would do anything to thumb his nose up at those that did.

“My sister hated it when we had school trips to museums. But I loved them. They had to drag me out, otherwise I'd have walked the halls for hours.”

He nodded in understanding. “They're not for everyone, especially young kids. Or at least the art museums. For me, it was an opportunity to get lost in another world. It offered me an escape, something to dream about. Maybe one day my art would mean more than my body.” 

He cast his eyes down at the table, unable to look her in the eye.

“How long... when did you learn?” she asked gently.

Neal grimaced. “My mom told me when I was ten. She signed me up when I was four, a year after my father died. I didn't understand it at first. All she told me was that I was special, that it was an honor. By the time I was fourteen and she had died, I had learned the truth. I was angry and resentful, and barely talked to her. I felt like she'd sold me, that I was just a meal ticket and she didn't care about what I wanted to do with my life.”

Sara had nothing to say to that. She couldn't imagine being told as a child that you were to give up your life and body. Kids at that age should be dreaming about being an astronaut or a firefighter, not dreading the years to come.

“But I know now that she meant well. She felt she had no choice.” He paused and sipped his wine. “I grew up believing my dad had died a hero. He was a cop. Only my Aunt Kathryn finally told me that he'd been a dirty cop. He killed a fellow police officer.”

Sara gasped and covered her mouth.

Neal shot her a bitter smile. “I know. It was hard to take. But I learned that my mom lost everything after that—no pension, no support, nothing. The first year was hard on her, and my aunt—she had been my dad's partner—tried to help as much as she could, but my mom was barely holding it together. Then she heard about the breeding program and signed me up. They paid her a monthly stipend, covered our health insurance, and in return, once I finished college, I was government property.”

“It must have been tough for her. I doubt she really wanted to do that to you.”

“I'd like to think so, but it doesn't matter much now.” He picked up his fork and played with it absentmindedly. “What's done is done. I couldn't get out of it.”

Sara was silent. Despite her parents' objections to her college degree, they had been loving parents who always wanted the best for her. She didn't know how she would have reacted in the same situation.

Angela and Lia came by then, picking up their dishes and placing their entrees in front of them. Neal had ordered her the truffle risotto with shrimp, and grilled asparagus on the side.

“I hope you're not allergic to shellfish,” he remarked lightly, smiling once again as they dug into their meals.

“No, I love shrimp. This looks wonderful,” she said, glad for the change of subject. And she took a bit of the risotto and nearly moaned. “Oh wow.”

He grinned. “Told you.”

They ate without further conversation, but Sara knew it wasn't over. As she put down her fork later, stomach quite full, she watched as he held himself upright and poised, showing no indication of the turmoil he lived with daily.

“You must be excited, though, you're almost done. And your art is out there. That must mean a lot,” she commented, breaking the silence.

Neal's hand froze in the air and he glanced at her, looking surprised. “You don't know, do you?”

She frowned. “Know what?”

He laid his fork down on his plate, and smoothed his hands over the napkin on his lap. “The government likes to promote their breeding program as voluntary. But that's only half of it. For a lot of couples, having a baby is too expensive. The government came up with a solution—a free baby in exchange for the child's service as a breeder later in life. I'm part of a small percentage that signed up after birth.”

Her eyes widened. “I didn't realize. I... I can't believe parents would do that to their kids before they're even born.”

“It happens more than you know. They're given monthly stipends for eighteen years and full health insurance. For this assistance, they're then required for longer service. Volunteers sign up for five cycles, as you know, but the rest of us are contracted for ten cycles, or the equivalent of thirteen years.”

Sara's jaw dropped, stunned at his admission. It was no wonder that he'd felt like he'd been sold into slavery and had lashed out.

Neal sat back and stared at her, calmly. He acted relaxed, talking about everything with a sense of detachment, as if it was just a fact of life, and not his life. She figured that was probably the only way he got through it.

“As you've obviously done the math, you know that I've gone through four cycles. I still have six to go—seven and a half years. I'll be thirty-five by the time I'm done.”

Sara didn't know if he was trying to elicit a reaction or to push her away. He certainly wasn't looking for pity, that much she knew.

But to be honest, she didn't know how _to_ react. It was all too disturbing, too shocking that the government allowed this. The conspiracy theorists and anti-government activists out there were right. And sitting in front of her was a man that had to suffer because of it. She almost wanted to side with them, to protest this inhuman treatment of innocent people.

“Have you-” she stopped, unable to believe what she was about to say. “Have you ever considered just running away?”

Neal let out a low, caustic laugh. “My friend would love you. He offered to help me disappear in college. But there's one problem.” He pointed to his neck. “When my mom signed me up, they put a chip in me. Can track me wherever I go.”

She blinked, surprised she hadn't seen that coming, but maybe that's because she'd never had reason to distrust the government on such a level. Everyone ranted about the government intruding in their lives, tracking their calls and emails, but this?

But that meant... she glanced up at him sharply. “You steal million dollar paintings with a GPS chip in your neck? Are you insane?”

His eyes lit up in quiet amusement. “I'm sure that's debatable, but don't worry, not in this case. The chip is passive, it doesn't record where I go. Someone sued the government years ago, and they had to cut off all real time tracking when we’re off-campus. It's only used to find someone if they don't show and to make sure we don’t leave the campus when we’re breeding. I think they have to get a warrant otherwise.”

She let out a long breath, relieved, and wondered why suddenly she was worried for him when only a short while ago she'd been cursing his name, ready to turn him over to the FBI. It was incredible all that had transpired since she spotted his bracelet less than a week ago.

Speaking of... she glanced at his wrist, his suit coat covering it up. “What about the bracelet?”

He lifted his arm, revealing the thin metal bracelet. “It's more of a medical alert. If something ever happens, we push a button and they'll come pick us up.”

She looked at it closely, noticing the small circle she'd seen on the photos was actually a recessed button. The bracelet itself was snug around his wrist and didn't appear to have any way to be taken off. Her stomach clenched at the thought, realizing he couldn't even hide his breeder status during his time off.

“Most people don't recognize it,” he explained, as if he read her mind. “If anyone asks, I tell them it's for an allergy. I think you're the first one to figure it out.”

Sara almost felt guilty, exposing his secret. “To be fair, I didn't recognize it; it took me several hours searching on the internet to track it down.”

Neal smiled and tipped his head to her. “Well, you succeeded. And look where you are now. Bet you didn't expect this, did you?”

She shook her head and grinned. “No, I did not. All I had hoped to do was find you and steal the painting back. Then maybe tell Agent Burke.”

He laughed. “Steal it back? That's great. There's a little con in you too, huh, Repo?”

She glared at him and that only made him laugh harder.

*~*~*~*

True to his word, Sara received a package at her office one week later. Carefully packaged, she found _Le Pianiste_ and the accompanying sketch, along with an article about how the sketch and the painting had been together until World War Two. Not much was known about them, and there were no provenance papers, so it was likely the painting was stolen without knowledge of the accompanying sketch.

She was torn between calling up Peter and keeping it to herself. But Sara knew she had an obligation to inform the FBI that the painting had been recovered. Although she wondered if they even knew of the sketch's disappearance since the owners were away. In the end, after she had their in-house authenticator verify that it was the original painting, she called him up. He was surprised to hear it had been returned to her, but thankfully didn't seem suspicious.

Of course, she refrained from telling him why it had been returned to her, and simply let him know that the FBI could come pick up the sketch since Sterling Bosch had no legal right to it. She knew it was wrong keeping it from Peter—and protecting Neal Caffrey—but if there was one person who deserved to be given a little slack, it was him. Not that she could condone all that he had done, but he hadn't hurt anyone.

Just this once, she would give him a free pass.

*~*~*~*

She wouldn't be able to explain it later, but she hailed a cab after work and found herself at Neal's loft. When he opened the door, and a slow smile stretched across his face, she questioned her sanity.

“Repo! What a surprise.”

He looked anything but surprised to see her there.

Holding the door open, he let her in and she heard the door clang shut behind her. She glanced at the easel set up in front of the large floor to ceiling windows, noting that it was a different painting than the one she'd seen last time, and slowly walked across the large room. Sara wasn't quite sure what had brought her here, or what, if anything, she was looking for, but she stopped in front of a bookcase on the far wall.

“Can I get you anything? A drink?” he asked, standing in the middle of the room watching her.

She glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Wanting to get me drunk so I can't remember what I find?”

Neal smirked. “I think you'd need a lot more than wine to do that.”

“Who said anything about wine?” she shot back, grinning, then turned back to the bookcase.

“Touché.”

She trailed a finger along a shelf, scanning the book titles and pausing at the small stone sculpture that was being used as a bookend. A woman lay on her side, her dress flowing around her as she held a small child. It was beautifully crafted, and she remembered his comment about forging sculptures. She didn't know her sculpture as well as her paintings, but she got the feeling that this was a Neal Caffrey original, and marveled at his talent. 

He could do so much if he had the opportunity.

“So, not that I'm complaining, but why the visit?”

“I got the package today,” she remarked offhandedly, continuing with her exploration, stopping at the kitchen bar where there was a framed photo propped up. A middle aged woman with long dirty blonde hair stood behind a small boy with a mop of brown hair that curled at his neck, smiling up at the camera. Sara looked back at him. “Thank you.” 

Neal cocked his head to the side, and studied her. “You're welcome, but I don't think you're here about the painting.”

“Who says I'm not?”

“I doubt you're here for more pleasant conversation.”

It _had_ been a pleasant conversation the other night. More enjoyable than she had imagined the night would be. They had talked for another hour over dessert and coffee—everything from college, to art, and his travels across Europe. She told him about some of her more daring recoveries and he gave her tips on how to bypass certain alarm systems.

Sara stared off into the distance. “Honestly? I don't know why I'm here.”

“I think you do,” he said, suddenly standing behind her.

She felt his hands gently turn her around and before she could argue, his hands were in her hair, and his lips softly kissing her. Her shoulders fell and her legs shook beneath her as she melted into his embrace.

Her brain caught up with her a moment later and she pulled back. She couldn't do this. He was Neal Caffrey, con man and thief.

His arms dropped to her waist, and he pulled her close. “Stop fighting it. Don't think of me as the bad guy,” he whispered in her ear.

“Easy for you to say,” she murmured, but knew he was right. If he really was the bad guy, she would have taken the painting the other day. Or called Peter and had a team of FBI agents arrest him at any time.

But she hadn't.

He could have fled with the painting after she left last week. Instead he'd taken a risk, and stayed. And now she was keeping his secret. She was as guilty as him.

Looking up into his eyes, she took a deep breath and he smiled.

He stepped back and held out his hand. “It will be okay, trust me.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Neal's chest ached as he hung his head over the toilet and dry heaved. One would think that if modern science could alter DNA so that men and women could no longer bear children, and create an artificial uterus, then they could get rid of morning sickness too. But no, for the fifth day in a row, he had been throwing up what little he ate and generally felt miserable. The only comfort he could glean was that at least it was in the privacy of his own bathroom._

_When the day had finally come for him to report to the Breeding Colony, his ‘Doomsdate’, as Mozzie referred to it, he'd felt like he was starting college all over again. The dorm where he now lived housed a 24/7 cafeteria, rec room, and computer lab for the three hundred breeders that lived there. There were five dormitories in the colony—two for the men and three for the women—along with several large apartment complexes. You had to pay extra for a personal apartment, he'd learned, and one month in, he was already emailing Mozzie that they had to arrange for more funds because he would kill himself if he had to live in the dorm for the next thirteen years._

_They weren't bad, but Neal liked his privacy. He had his own room and bathroom, which was a step up from the small room he shared with his roommate his first year of college and the community bathrooms. It was a big suite, with a living room, kitchenette, and three bedrooms. There was space for a small desk in his room and he set up his easel by the window, but it still felt cramped. One month in, the boredom was already settling in, and Neal felt the walls closing in on him._

_He had two suitemates, Adam and Josh, and both of them were volunteers. Neal felt they had nothing in common, and knew they would never see eye-to-eye. They had chosen this life and had not grown up with it hanging over their heads. Josh was also fresh out of college, but had no real career aspirations. Holding a communications degree only because his parents had demanded he attend college, Josh had opted not to join the workforce when he graduated and instead signed up to be a breeder. The chance to earn money while playing video games all day long had been the basis of his decision._

_Adam was a few years older than him, and had just started his second cycle. A couple years out of college, he'd decided he didn't like his job and wanted to switch fields. Unfortunately he couldn't pay to go to school again, so he'd volunteered to be a breeder for the money and obtain his degree online. Neal understood his reasons and applauded him for his courage, but it still didn't change the fact that the choice had been his and he wouldn't be tied down for nearly as long._

_Both Adam and Josh had been quiet and had little to offer but mild sympathy when Neal had introduced himself and explained his situation. They just couldn't relate. He had been advised of counselors who were available to talk with, but Neal knew it would be of no help. They couldn't change anything, couldn't free him from this life._

_The only bright spots in his day were the phone calls with Kate, the emails from Mozzie, and the time he spent painting. He was lucky in that regard. The minimum age for breeding was twenty-two. The government encouraged people to go to college before starting the program and helped facilitate temp jobs during their three month breaks. But most of them couldn't work during a cycle. A few worked remotely if it was possible. As an artist, Neal could paint anywhere. That was his one saving grace, the one thing to help him keep his sanity._

_He'd been eagerly waiting for Kate's first visit, planned for the upcoming weekend, but the way his week had been going, he knew it wouldn't be what they had hoped for. But he'd known it would never be the same again. Long gone were their carefree days spent backpacking around Europe, hopping on trains on a whim, going wherever they pleased._

_Mozzie and Kate had kept his mind off of his impending future, taking him to all the museums and sights, never letting him stop and dwell. He'd literally flown in from Prague the night before he had to report in. The long flight home had been the worst part, with hours to do nothing but dwell. Years of anger and resentment had come to a crux—it was finally time to face the music._

_And Neal made a decision._

_He'd been running and ignoring it for years, but he couldn't run anymore. And the sooner he accepted that, the sooner he could make a life out of what he did have. He'd charmed and conned people before, it was time to put those skills to good use._

_Even if it meant conning himself._

_He was given a day to settle in, and the next day he had his first appointment. Once again they'd examined him, taken blood, and given him a hormone injection to help prepare his body for the transfer, which would take place three days later. The jet lag didn't help his mood, but at least this time he knew what to expect._

_Neal was resigned to the indignity of the situation, changing into the flimsy gown and spreading his legs to be poked and prodded. Modesty had been thrown out the window after his surgery. He might not like it, but he would deal with it._

_But that didn't mean he wasn't nervous or scared, far from it. Society rarely talked about, much less thought about, the reality of breeding. It was just another public service. The government liked to keep it that way, to downplay the rigors and stress it placed on their bodies. He was just one of thousands, a tool tucked away, out of sight, so that the public wouldn't be outraged by the truth. They were only presented with the joyful pictures of parents seeing their babies for the first time. The ads didn't promote the heartburn, constipation, swelling and other unpleasantries he knew were in his future._

_The actual procedure wasn't any worse than his other exams, if just a little uncomfortable. The small room was crowded, with two doctors and two nurses working around him, as a small catheter holding the embryo was guided via ultrasound._

_Afterwards he laid back as a nurse went through everything from the prescriptions for prenatal vitamins and the hormone therapy he was to continue taking throughout the pregnancy to the obvious restrictions on drugs and alcohol, and limitations on caffeine. He would return for another shot in five days, then for a pregnancy test in two weeks. After that he would thankfully only have to come back for monthly check-ups until he neared the end. He had read most of it in the literature provided to him months ago, but he knew she had to go through it with him personally._

_The nurse also discussed general information about life on campus, such as the fact that all visitors had to be added to an approved list and all sexual partners tested. Mozzie refused to be on any government list, but Neal had already added Kate before his surgery._

_When another nurse brought in the bracelet, he'd thought nothing of it, and simply held out his left wrist. It was later that he noticed that there was no external clasp—he wouldn't be taking it off anytime soon. For some reason that set him off, feeling as if he was branded and shackled as a piece of property. He knew it was there for medical reasons, but the universal symbol for 'breeder' was etched onto the surface and it might as well have been a big red 'B' on his forehead._

_The public had come to accept breeders as a necessity, but that didn't mean they wanted to acknowledge them in person. It made people uncomfortable, or at least certainly the male breeders did._

_For three months every cycle, he could return to his own life but now he would always have the glaring reminder and everyone would see it._

 _*~*~*~*_

 _Neal never thought of himself as vain, but he had grown used to having a thin physique. It had certainly helped him out of many a tight spot in the past. So it was hard to watch as his waist thickened and his stomach pooched as the weeks went by. His morning sickness was finally abating while his appetite increased and he was only going to get bigger._

_It had been startling and a little unnerving when he'd first arrived to see people at varying points in their pregnancy walking around. Having grown up in a world where it was hidden from sight, it was hard not to stare. Knowing that he'd get that big was unfathomable. So it was with great pains that Neal found himself walking to the clothing shop on campus. He couldn't button his pants anymore and had taken to wearing pajama bottoms instead. It was Adam who'd pushed him to go, telling him that he'd be more comfortable._

_Neal gratefully accepted the help of one of the ladies that worked there, who pulled all manners of clothes off the racks, showing him expandable waists and hidden panels in the pants. She'd offered a padded belly to try them on with, so he could prepare for the months to come, but it was too much for him to handle just yet and he declined. He'd come back later if he had to._

_Kate looked at him with wide eyes and he knew it was just as hard on her as it was him, to see his body change. She'd only visited him a few times so far, having started a part time job at a small gallery. It wasn't much, but it helped pay the bills as she worked on her own art. The long train ride to Long Island kept her from visiting more, but they talked on the phone whenever they could._

_Mozzie had taken to sneaking in, a feat that didn't surprise Neal, seeing as not much stopped his friend from going certain places. Neal got to hear long rants about the government and conspiracy theories most of the time, but it helped him feel like nothing had changed—at least not between them. Mozzie updated him on his latest cons, in an effort to replenish their savings. He also had a job lined up that would need a forgery._

_That lifted Neal's spirits and for the next couple of weeks he spent his time carefully painting it. His energy had increased and slowly he was getting accustomed to the routine of his new life. He walked the mile loop around the campus daily, and swam laps three times a week. It helped stave off the boredom and kept him in shape. Neal was determined not to gain too much weight, knowing the repeated cycles would wreak havoc on his metabolism and body._

_It was during his time walking that he started to interact with people outside the doctor's visits and his dorm, enjoying the opportunity to talk with those in the same situation. Adam spent most of his time on schoolwork and Josh similarly was always in front of his computer or TV. Meeting others who had grown up with the same fears and dread gave him the support and acceptance he wished he had when he was younger._

_But no matter how much he got used to it, all he could see was the long road ahead of him and the end didn't seem any closer than the day before._

*~*~*~*

Sara woke up the next morning tangled in 500-count Egyptian cotton sheets that were definitely not hers. She blinked wearily, clearing her eyes and looked around. The morning sun was shining in, lighting up the entire loft, and she was alone in the bed. She spotted Neal in the kitchen, and it all came flooding back to her.

The painting returned to her office. Going to Neal's apartment after work... and giving in to Neal Caffrey.

Any other day she wouldn't have believed it, but as she watched him, it was hard not to remember why he had broken through her own walls. Put aside his criminal past, and forget his life as a breeder, Neal was exactly the type of guy she wanted. Sure, his good looks didn't hurt, but he was more than that. He was more than a charming guy whose smile could con you out of your money, because underneath it all, he was a guy who just wanted a normal life like everyone else. He loved, he laughed and he smiled through anything and everything life threw at him.

Compared to most people out there, he deserved sainthood.

And he was good in bed too, she thought wryly. Especially for a guy who didn't have the opportunity to get out much. She knew it probably wasn't easy for him, and wondered if he’d ever had a serious relationship. Not that she was any better. Everyone knew she was married to her job. The last guy she'd dated had lasted two months because she was always working.

Tugging at the sheets, she pulled them around her and sat up, leaning against the headboard. She watched as Neal picked up a pan from the stove and emptied it onto a plate. He then picked up a tray and started towards her, shirtless and with his pajama bottoms slung low on his waist.

She raised an eyebrow as he got closer and saw the tray loaded with food—omelets, fruit, and what looked like fresh brioche. “You cook too? You can do everything, can't you?”

He placed the tray down on the end of the bed and walked around, climbing in on the other side. “I'm going to take that as a compliment, and not a jab at my masculinity.”

She blinked, taken aback by cool reply, then she realized what he was referring to. “Definitely a compliment. Most women would kill for a man who'd bring her breakfast in bed.”

Neal smirked and pulled the tray closer to them. “My skills aren't limited to breakfast. A guy can only live on cafeteria food and take-out for so long.”

Sara picked up a fork and took a bite of the omelet, filled with sautéed mushrooms, onions and sun-dried tomatoes. It was delicious and way more than she ever did herself. She took a sip of orange juice and observed him as he dug into his own omelet. “It really bothers you, doesn't it?” 

He slowly finished chewing and swallowed, then picked up his glass. She waited, watching as he schooled his face into one of casual indifference. But she knew better. The only way he could live with it was to push it deep down and act like he was normal.

Neal leaned back and sighed. “In the beginning, it did. Especially growing up. Imagine being sixteen and jerking off like any normal teenage boy does, knowing in a few years you were going to have a vagina and uterus. It sort of messes with your head. Are you a man or not?”

Sara felt a pang of sympathy for him. “You can get it removed, right? I mean, once you're done.”

“For a fee.” He plucked a grape off the plate and popped it in his mouth.

She gaped openly at him. “What! They're going to make you pay? That's ridiculous.”

He shrugged. “They're in it to make money and they don't really care if you feel like a freak.” Slicing up his omelet, he took another bite. “Most guys—at least the volunteers that is—usually keep them in so that they can come back and do a cycle for quick money whenever they want.”

“Really? I'd think they be glad to be done, too.” She shook her head and picked up the Nutella jar to slather some on her brioche. He really was spoiling her.

“It's a different mindset for them. Some people compare it to enlisting in the military. You join up, basically get everything provided to you, earn some money while you're at it, and get out after a few years. It's a conscious choice for them, and they decided it's worth it. For the rest of us, it's akin to being a slave, so we feel a bit differently about it.”

“I'm sorry.” She knew it was trite, but she really felt bad for him.

Neal shrugged his shoulders. “What's done is done. I've learned to live with it. But to answer your question, yes, I do intend to have it removed.” He took a sip of his juice and set the glass back down. “You know, I was surprised last night. You didn't ask.”

“Ask what?” She glanced at him puzzled.

“To see it.”

She nearly choked on the grape she had just popped in her mouth. “Um, it didn't really cross my mind. Not to be crass, but it's just a hole. I have one myself. It's not a big deal.”

He grinned. “Why, Ms. Ellis, are you saying you hold out a mirror and look at yourself?”

Sara threw a grape at him and shook her head. He laughed. “I'm not going to dignify that with a response.”

“So you're saying that having sex with a guy who also happens to have female parts too— _isn't a big deal?_ I find that hard to believe.” He looked at her in disbelief.

“Granted, you're the first, and certainly it was never on my life's to-do list, but honestly it doesn't matter. It's not like it affected your performance,” she explained. He grinned and Sara rolled her eyes. “See, you're just like every other guy who likes to hear how good they are.”

“Can you blame me?”

She didn't, not really, but she didn't say anything. “I take it that others have asked?”

His face fell. “Once—my college girlfriend. Right after I had my surgery. I generally never tell anyone, though.”

“And they've never noticed, right?” He shook his head and she cocked her head to the side, smiling. “Suffice to say then, your secret's safe, unless you want to do show and tell.”

Neal laughed. “I'd rather not, thanks.”

She smiled and glanced over at the clock. “Shoot! I need to get to work.” She ate a few quick bites of the omelet and washed it down with the juice. Throwing off the sheets, she stood up and grabbed her clothes off the floor. She got dressed and hunted for her shoes. Finally spotting them tossed in the corner, she hurriedly slipped them on and turned back to face him.

He'd been watching her, of course, and normally she'd make a quip about the show, but she saw something different in his eyes. It wasn't just about the sex for him. He looked... happy. And it pained her to realize that not many people really knew him or got the chance to know him. Not everything. Did he ever let anyone get close?

She walked over to the bed and gave him a quick kiss. “Thanks for breakfast.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Breakfast? Really, that's it?”

Sara smirked. “And everything else.”

Neal grabbed her hand and pulled her in, and she tumbled into his arms. He brushed a hand over her cheek and leaned in, kissing her softly. They broke apart several seconds later, and he smiled. “Thank _you_.”

*~*~*~*

Sara tried not to give it much thought over the next couple of days, but it was hard not to. She knew she couldn't— _shouldn't_ fall for a guy after one date and sleeping with him. Certainly not a guy like Neal Caffrey. He was a conman. A thief.

And a breeder.

How they could ever have a relationship, she had no idea. He had the FBI chasing after him, and hell, until last week, she'd been after him too. As for his breeder status, that obviously threw a wrench into things as well.

She didn't know which was the bigger problem of the two. 

Logically, she knew she should be bothered by the fact that he was a breeder. She certainly had never considered even the possibility of dating such a guy. It wasn't something people addressed. Oh, she was sure some women probably got off on it, but to Sara, it didn't matter to her. She didn't look at him and think _breeder_. She saw a regular guy (or maybe not so regular, he was a con man after all) who was funny and nice, and she wanted to get to know him.

The better question was whether he wanted to start something. Or even could. He lived in a breeding colony for a year at a time. He still had over seven years to go. She supposed it could be worse—he could be overseas in the military, and couples managed that all the time. Neal was at least local, if only an hour away; the hours she spent working would probably put as much of a crimp in their time spent together as his location would. 

She wondered if they allowed visitors. Of course, she didn't know if he was comfortable having anyone see him. And how _did_ she really feel about seeing him pregnant?

Sara's mind screeched to a halt, realizing that she was getting ahead of herself. She had to put all of that aside. It had only been a week since she'd met him and the fact that he _was_ Neal Caffrey, conman and thief, was something she didn't know if they could even work past.

*~*~*~*

It was a rare weekend that Sara did not work. To catch a thief, you often had to act like one and catch them unaware. Unfortunately, that often meant working after hours and on weekends. On Saturday morning she got up, went on a run, and mentally prepared herself for the day. She was going after a thief, only it wasn't for work.

She'd been toiling over the problem that was Neal Caffrey for the last few days. What it all boiled down to was one thing—was she willing to overlook his criminal past? She had thought long and hard about it, and finally she answered, _yes_. On paper, Neal Caffrey was arrogant and frustratingly annoying. In person, however, you couldn't help but like him. You could almost forgive his criminal tendencies, he'd been dealt a crappy hand in life, but he wasn't asking for handouts or pity. All he wanted was to be accepted, and probably acknowledged too.

He didn't steal for the money. He didn't steal to get back at the government or whoever else he could blame. No, he did it because he could, because it gave him a finite amount of control over a part of his life. He had no one but his best friend, his partner in crime, as far as she was aware. And that had to be lonely.

She told herself that she wasn't doing this to be nice or because she felt bad for him. No, despite her better judgment, she felt the curl of her toes and the budding feeling of excitement whenever she thought about him.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on his door late Saturday morning. They hadn't exchanged phone numbers, and he didn't know where she lived, so this was all on her. And maybe that's how he wanted it. He was the one who had the most to lose. Not just emotionally, but physically. With one phone call, she could have the FBI on his doorstep. But she didn't want him to think she was holding that over his head, because she wasn't.

She hadn't realized it, but from the moment she'd stepped foot into his loft, she'd already made the decision not to turn him in. Even if this didn't work out, she'd keep his secret. It would be hard lying to Peter, but Neal deserved her trust, and even more, he deserved the little bit of freedom he had.

The door opened and Neal looked back at her, blue eyes shining when he saw her, and Sara knew she'd made the right decision.

“Sara.”

She smiled wide. “Mind some company?”

He shook his head. “Not at all.” She followed him in. He waved towards the easel in the middle of the room. “I was just painting.”

She nodded absently and turned to face him. “The Channing Museum asked the Winters to loan them the sketch, so that it can be paired with the painting. They agreed and ended up donating it.”

Neal grinned. “That's great.”

“I'd thought you'd like to hear that.” Sara smiled and turned, walking over to his easel. There she saw a woman lying in the grass, flowers all around her, and dotting the hills that seemed to go on forever, disappearing into the distance. “It's beautiful. Italy?”

He nodded. “A little town outside of Florence. If there's one part of Italy that I could paint forever, it would be Tuscany.”

She glanced over at him. “Planning any trips soon?”

“To Italy?”

She shrugged. “Anywhere. I figured you travel a lot during your breaks.”

“I'm going to Vienna for Christmas. I haven't been off for the holidays for a few years now,” he said, picking up one of his brushes and cleaning it with a rag.

“Sounds lovely.” She paused. “Any side trips?”

Neal looked up at her and raised an eyebrow curiously. “Who's asking?”

Sara sighed and closed her eyes. This wasn't how she'd planned the conversation to go, but there was no good way to bring it up. Opening her eyes, she found him watching her, concerned, a worried tick in the way he held himself. It was slight, the mask already sliding in place.

She waved a finger between them. “This can't work if you're still out there playing your games.”

He walked up close and crowded her space. She looked up at him, her nose only inches away from his face. “What _is_ this?” he asked softly.

“I don't know.”

“You have to say the word, Sara, because it's not up to me.” He brushed a tendril of her hair behind her ear and trailed his hand down her neck. She shivered under his touch.

“I... I want you.”

“All of me?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

“Yes.”


	4. Chapter 4

_Five months in, and mid-way through his pregnancy, Neal could no longer deny the obvious. He had a small rounded belly, all the normal aches and pains, swollen ankles, and an active baby inside him. When he'd first felt the flutter a month ago, it had been surreal, and now the baby was moving around constantly._

_At his four month mark, he'd had an ultrasound where they determined the sex, but he hadn't been allowed to look. They wanted breeders to have no emotional attachment to the babies they carried. It was hard to think that was even possible, since for years he'd been angry. But now as he rested his hand on his belly and felt it move, he knew it was possible. It wasn't the baby's fault. He felt a strong urge to keep it safe, this small, innocent child who he couldn't blame for the life he had to live._

_It wasn't a completely bad life. He had plenty of time to paint, and he no longer had to get up for classes, but it was lonely. Kate had been busy for the past six weeks as her gallery put on an exhibition. She hadn't been up to visit him since, and their phone calls were short, once or twice a week at best. But the show was finally winding down, so she was finally able to come out this weekend._

_Neal had to grin when he heard the knock and moved to the door. Josh was on the couch in the living room, head hung back, snoring softly, and game controller limp in his hands. Adam was standing in their kitchenette eating leftovers. He opened the door and saw her looking nervously down the hallway. She looked up and smiled wide when she saw him._

_“Kate,” he breathed, and pulled her into a hug. It had been too long._

_She glanced down, feeling the press of his belly between them. “Wow.”_

_He stepped back, smoothing his shirt over his stomach. When she'd last seen him, he was barely showing. Even though he was now used to it, he knew it was probably a shock for her. “It's moving now.”_

_“Really?” She looked at his stomach, eyes wide and nervous._

_He smiled softly. “It's okay. I know it's a lot to take in. Come on, let's go for a walk.” Grabbing the handle of her carry-on, he tugged it inside and walked to his room. Kate went straight to his easel and looked at his current painting._

_“I like it.”_

_“Thanks. Have you had any time to work on your own?” Neal asked, standing behind her._

_She shook her head. “Not much, unfortunately. I've been spending all my time at the gallery.”_

_Neal reached for her hand. “You'll get back to it. Don't worry.”_

_Kate turned around and he smiled, pulling her to the door. They walked out to the trail that looped around the campus. It was early evening, and most people were probably at dinner, but a few were still walking. He could feel the tension in her as they passed them, some of them heavily pregnant, and knew this was making her uncomfortable._

_Keeping the conversation light, he got her talking about the gallery show and her plans for the summer. Her parents wanted to come down to see her over Memorial Day, and she wanted to go somewhere later, just to get away from the hot summer the meteorologists were predicting. Neal fell quiet as she listed the places she wanted to go, knowing this time, he wouldn't be going with her. But he didn't want to make her feel bad. She couldn't stop living her life because of him._

_The sun was setting and it was nearly dark by the time they made it back to his dorm. They had stopped for dinner at the small Italian restaurant on campus. It was part of the government's initiative to make it seem more like a real community; after all, there were at least two thousand breeders living there at a time. The campus also had a movie theater, bowling alley, gym, three pools, salon and other amenities. It still was confining, but at least there was something to do._

_Adam and Josh had retreated to their own rooms by the time they returned, and Neal was thankful for the quiet as they moved to his bedroom. They tumbled into his bed, tearing each other’s clothes off as their lips crashed together. When they finally pulled apart, Kate stared down at his stomach, now lying bare. He took her hand, laying it gently on top and watched her flinch at she felt the smooth taut surface of his round belly._

_It hurt, but Neal knew it would take some time for her to adjust. He dropped her hand and moved over her, kissing a trail down her neck and chest. Kate gratefully followed his lead, and her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. Then she stilled at his stomach came between them._

_It was awkward what followed, and he felt the tear roll down her cheek as they fell back at the end. Neal smoothed some hair from her face and whispered in her ear, “It'll be okay.”_

_But it felt heavy on his tongue, a bold faced lie, for he knew the truth. It was only going to get worse._

 _*~*~*~*_

 _Neal woke up to the sounds of rustling and opened his eyes, glancing around bleary eyed and tired. Kate was kneeling on the floor, tugging the zipper on her carry-on. She was fully dressed, shoes on, and she wasn't unpacking. He sat up quickly and rubbed at his eyes._

_“Kate?”_

_She looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Neal.”_

_“What's going on?” His stomach clenched, knowing exactly what was happening, but not wanting to believe it._

_She stood up and twisted her hands together, nervously. “I'm sorry, Neal. I can't do this.”_

_He pushed himself out of bed, the sheets falling from his hips. Her eyes fell to his stomach and he instinctively cradled it._

_“It's just too much, Neal. I can't do it. I'm sorry,” she shook her head, apologizing once more as tears fell down her cheeks._

_“No, Kate, please. I need you. We can get through this,” he pleaded with her, stepping forward._

_She backed away, and picked up her carry-on, extending the handle and gripping it tight. “We were kidding ourselves, Neal. Maybe if it'd been a year or two, but thirteen?”_

_But it was more than that, he could see it in her eyes. She couldn't look at him. Couldn't touch him. Not anymore._

_“I love you,” he said, his voice trembling._

_Kate didn't say anything. She bit her lip, then turned and walked out._

_He crossed the room hurriedly, following her into the living room. “Kate, no—please!”_

_She paused at the front door and glanced back. “Goodbye, Neal.”_

_As the door closed behind her, Neal felt his world crash down at his feet and he stumbled back to his room, falling into his bed, crying. He rested a hand on his stomach as he felt the baby move, and knew he was alone now._

_Mozzie was a great friend, but he had to do this by himself. He wouldn't make anyone else suffer through this too, to give up their life, waiting on him. No, he couldn't ask that of anyone._

 _*~*~*~*_

 _A few days later, Mozzie came around, and Neal told him to leave. He'd been holed up in his room since Kate left, coming out to eat only when Adam or Josh brought food back from the cafeteria. He knew he looked like a scary mess, unshaven and pregnant, an unnatural sight if there ever was one._

_Mozzie tried to talk to him about Kate, to make him see that it was for the best. Conmen like them didn't settle down._

_“I'm not a con. I'm a freak,” he'd replied bitterly._

_His friend left after an hour, shaking his head in resignation. But Neal didn't care what Mozzie thought. Neal didn't want Mozzie to see him, didn't want anyone to see him._

_A week later, Adam pushed him into the shower. Made him get dressed and shave. Then dragged him out on a walk._

_They were silent for awhile, then finally Adam spoke up. “I met my girlfriend, Jennifer, at my first job. We clicked immediately, dated for two years. I wanted to marry her, but that's when I realized that I hated my job and wanted a change. We talked it over, and she was supportive of me going to school again. But I couldn't afford it. My parents were poor, I'd gone to school on scholarships in the first place. If I took out school loans, we'd be paying them off for twenty years when we should be paying off a mortgage or having kids._

_“Finally I came up with the idea to volunteer to be a breeder. I knew it was crazy, but I'd get paid while going to school—it seemed like the best solution. She agreed. We knew it would be hard, but we'd been together for two years and had a solid relationship. I proposed to her before I left.” He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly._

_“She came up to visit every weekend. We were doing good. Planning out our lives, talking about having our own kids one day. Then one day she felt the baby kick and realized it wasn't hers. She was going to have to wait to get married, to start a family, and she couldn't do it.”_

_Adam glanced over at him. “You may feel that you were given a crappy hand at life, but at least you didn't do it to yourself. This was my choice and I lost the woman I loved because I was selfish. I could have stuck it out in my job, taken classes at night or maybe taken on a side job. But I didn't.”_

_He stopped and stared Neal in the eye. “We will both get through this. One day we'll find someone who won't care and maybe it won't be today or tomorrow, but we're not doing this forever.”_

_“But you're not stuck here for twelve more years, Adam. I am,” Neal argued._

_Adam sighed. “Just don't give up on life, Neal, that's all I have to say. It'll be a long twelve years if you have no one to talk to.”_

_It would be another week before Neal called Mozzie, apologizing. But he still didn't want him to come around. Not yet. Mozzie understood, and said he had some trips to make anyway. But they stayed in touch._

_Neal got back into his routine, walking and swimming even as he got bigger as the weeks went by. He started researching, and made a list of agents to contact once he was done with his cycle. He wasn't going to waste his life while he waited. If he had only three months to himself, he was going to follow his dream. Make a name and a life for himself—one where it didn't matter that he was a breeder._

_Neal Caffrey was born._

*~*~*~*

“Hold still.”

Sara raised a finely plucked eyebrow. “Easy for you to say. You're not lying here naked. I'm _cold_.” She'd been unwilling to leave his bed that morning, too tired and bone weary from a long week at work and a long, but pleasant, night of sex. Neal in turn, had decided to start painting her. 

The large loft windows were great for lighting up the room, but bad for keeping the heat in. He had also artistically arranged the sheets around her, leaving her rather exposed and very cold.

“I'm almost done. You can have a hot shower after this.” He peeked around the easel and wiggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed. He obviously had plans to join her.

In the past few weeks since _Le Pianiste_ had been stolen, Sara felt as if she'd been on a roller-coaster. So many highs and lows, twists and turns, and when she got off, she just wanted to go again. Neal hadn't exactly promised to stop his life of crime, but it had been there in his eyes, and for some reason she believed him. Maybe all he needed was someone to push him in the right direction.

She knew she couldn't make her own promises, no one ever could—not this early in a relationship—but something felt right. There were still other things, obviously, that they had to work through, and Sara wondered if he even thought it was possible. Would he keep himself at arm's length so he wouldn't be hurt? She imagined it was tough for him to have any sort of relationship, and wouldn't blame him if he was doubtful that she'd stick around.

But it was also a lot to ask of her, and he knew that. She had to be the one to make the decision. For now they were taking it one day at a time.

A noise at the front door made her lift up her head and look across the room, as her brain caught up a second too late when the door opened and a short, balding man with thick glasses stepped through. 

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, scrambling for the sheets to cover herself up.

The man stopped short, glanced between her and Neal, who quickly stepped in front of his easel, hiding the painting from sight. He'd promised her that no one would ever see it.

“Oh, you have company.”

Sara blinked, her mind making the connection, realizing that this was Neal's friend, and partner in crime. She looked over at Neal. “You gave him a _key_?”

Neal shrugged and smiled. “In my defense, I only live here three months at a time. Someone has to look after it.”

The bald man's eyes widened. “You told her?”

Neal opened his mouth, but Sara beat him to it, still gathering sheets around her chest. “I figured it out.”

His friend took off his glasses and pinched his nose, waving a hand in the air. “I do not need to know about your sex life.”

Neal just sighed and held out his arm. “She spotted the bracelet, put two and two together.”

More or less, Sara thought, watching the two. Apparently Neal hadn't told his friend about her yet. That was interesting. While she'd love to be a fly on the wall during that conversation, she figured it was better that she left.

“I'll just go take a shower,” she said, getting up and taking the sheets with her. She walked quickly to the bathroom, leaving the two men to talk.

Neal looked disappointed that he'd miss out on the shower, but she knew there would be time for that another day.

~

Mozzie glanced at Neal and raised an eyebrow. “Female company? And she knows? I did not see that coming.” He walked towards the kitchen and the small wine rack, pulling a bottle out.

Neal followed, and leaned against the bar. “Neither did I. She surprised me.”

“So where did you two meet?” he asked, opening the bottle.

“The cafe around the corner. She'd been watching me. At least I think so—we haven't talked about that, really. But she was after the _Le Pianiste_ ,” Neal explained, pausing as he remembered that fateful day. It was obvious what she'd been after, but that hadn't been his normal time to grab coffee.

“Wait a minute, what? She's a _thief_?”

He shook his head. “No, she works for Sterling Bosch.”

Mozzie sputtered, quickly putting his glass of wine down. “Are you kidding me? You're bedding Little Miss Repo? And she knows the truth? Are you insane?!”

“Her name is Sara, Moz. And while, yes, I realize this isn't the ideal situation, nothing about my life is. It just happened.”

Mozzie shook his head and waved his hand around wildly. “I know her name— _Sara Ellis!_ You're seriously dating the insurance agent who's been after you for over a year?”

Neal shrugged. “Like I said, it just happened.”

“Nothing just happens. She wants the painting. Has she seen it?”

“Yes, after I invited her up. I returned it and the sketch to her office last week, by the way,” Neal remarked casually and walked towards his small pantry to grab coffee beans. He needed a cup the way this conversation was going. Wine would probably be better, but it was still early in the morning (for him at least).

“Oh no, no, no... you _didn't!_ I seriously don't get you.” Mozzie started pacing. “Why do you do this to yourself? If you keep taunting them, you're going to get caught one day. But what am I saying? That day is here. She knows the truth! She'll tell the FBI and forget worrying about morning sickness, you'll have bigger problems to worry about in prison.”

Neal hit the button on the coffee grinder with a short jab. “She's not going to tell the FBI. If she didn't take the painting that first day or call the FBI when she left, _and_ didn't tell them after I mailed the painting back, I don't think she's talking.”

“For now, maybe.”

He sighed and pulled the grounds out and poured them into the coffee maker. Grabbing a cup from the cabinet above him, he walked over to the sink and filled it up with water, and then walked back to the coffee maker. He started it up, turned around, and leaned his back against the counter, crossing his arms. “I'm not worried.”

“You should be. What do you think she's going to do once you go back to your own version of _Brave New World?_ You really think she's in this for the long haul?” Mozzie took a long drink of his wine, put it back down then seemed to reconsider it and took another drink.

“Have you ever considered that maybe she likes me?”

Mozzie scoffed. “Of course she likes you, cheekbones. You're charming and handsome. Who doesn't like you?”

Neal gave him a look. “Don't call me that. And thanks, I see what you really think of me now. I'm just the face for all your cons. The rest of the year I'm just a body for the government to use.”

Sighing, Mozzie held his hands out placating. “You're more than that and you know it, Neal. I just want you to think this through. You're on a high right now—she's a pretty girl who knows the truth about you and hasn't run off scared. That doesn't mean you start planning marriage and a family.”

“Gee, I hadn't realized that, Moz.” Neal ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and looked over towards the easel and the painting of Sara he'd started sketching out. “I'm not you, Moz. I can't do this the rest of my life. All I've ever wanted is _my_ own life. The cons? They've been fun, but that's not all I want to do.”

“You're giving it up, aren't you? A girl enters the picture and it's over.” Mozzie shook his head sadly.

Neal gave him a small smile. “Maybe it's just time. I never kept the artwork. It was about the challenge.”

“You were the best,” Mozzie agreed.

~

Sara listened, standing in the shadows, and smiled. She fingered Neal’s robe that she’d slipped on while waiting for the water to heat up and inhaled the soft scent of his soap. Sure, they were an unconventional couple, but maybe that's what they both needed.

And if it meant that there was one less art thief she had to chase after, then her work here was done.

*~*~*~*

Sara should have been more surprised than she was to find Neal in her apartment when she got home from work. But the man had sent hand painted birthday cards to Peter Burke, for crying out loud. She could only imagine what he would do for someone he dated.

He was cooking in the kitchen, and yep, there was a huge bouquet of flowers on her dining room table.

“Neal?”

He looked up and smiled, then set down his knife, wiped his hands on a towel and crossed the small kitchen. “Hey there. Happy Birthday.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “How did you know?”

He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “I may have lifted your wallet the other day. I just wanted to know where you lived. No stalking involved, honest!” He held up his hands to keep her from getting mad. “And then I saw your birth date. How come you didn't tell me?”

Sara noticed he didn't ask why she hadn't invited him over yet, he knew better. They had only been together a couple of weeks, it was still new, and she hadn't offered that part of her yet.

“It's not a big deal.”

Neal gave her a look. He didn't believe her. “Okay, for me, it's not a big deal. I live alone, can't go out and do anything. I understand if you didn't want a big present, that's fine. But we could have just gone out and celebrated.”

“Newsflash, I live alone too. Birthdays just aren't that exciting anymore. They usually aren't past the age of ten.” Sara kicked off her heels and picked them up. She walked back to her bedroom, and went straight to her closet. Depositing her shoes, she turned around and saw Neal standing in her doorway.

Sighing, she moved towards her bed and sat down. Neal detected the silent invitation and came to sit next to her. “I work all the time, barely have any friends. No family. There's just been no reason to celebrate. I'm sure you're aware how sad and pathetic it is to eat birthday cake by yourself.”

Neal picked up her hand and ran his thumb in circles over her palm gently. “You're not alone now.”

She glanced at him and smiled softly. “I'm not used to that. It's been a long time since I've had anyone.”

He seemed to sense what she was saying without words. It was almost unnerving how he could pick up on anything, always knew what to say. Years of conning, she supposed, but that wasn't the case now. It was nice, she admitted.

“Your parents?”

Sara shook her head slightly. “Dead. Car accident four months after I graduated college.”

He was quiet. There was no real way to say 'sorry' without being trite, and he knew it. Had experienced it himself.

“Your sister?” he finally asked, hesitant.

She smiled grimly and took a deep breath. Her parents' death had hit her hard, but she'd been an adult then, had grieved and moved on, found a way to keep living. Her sister was a whole different story.

“Emily ran away when I was thirteen.”

Neal's hand stopped its tender caress. He looked at her openly surprised, and immediately regretful. “I'm sorry, I had no idea.” 

She shrugged. What was a birthday without thinking of her sister? “My parents never got over it. Holidays and birthdays—they tried, but they were only a reminder that she was gone. So as you can see, birthdays, not such a big deal for me.”

“Were you two close?”

Memories of the two of them, thick as thieves, swept through her and she smiled. “Very. She was two years older than me. We were together constantly, which just confused me when she ran away. I thought I knew everything about her. I hadn't realized she was upset. I never saw anything.”

“What was she like?”

He didn't try to placate her, to tell her it wasn't her fault. Sara appreciated that. She'd heard enough of that from the psychologist as a teenager. Maybe he had too. They were surprisingly alike. She never would have thought that a few weeks ago and had to laugh at that. Oh how things changed.

“She was a dancer. Ballet, jazz, tap... she loved it all. When we were little, my parents took us to New York City at Christmas and we saw the Radio City Rockettes. Emily decided right then and there that's what she wanted to become.” Sara smiled wistfully at the memory of Emily tapping constantly that next year. Her mom had nearly gone insane, and tried to push ballet just to have some quiet in the house.

“So you were the artist and she was the dancer. Quite a pair,” Neal remarked.

Sara shook her head and laughed. “Oh, no, don't get any ideas. I may love art, but I cannot draw for the life of me. When I play Pictionary, I'm doing well when my United States actually can be recognized for what it is and not as a cow.”

Neal grinned and bumped his shoulder against her. “Well, not everyone can be Picasso.”

She nodded. “That's the truth. I would have loved to have your talent though. I tried photography in high school, but that wasn't my calling either.”

He laid a hand on her leg and squeezed. “Hey, you're good at what you do, and you're still involved with art.”

“Does dating you count?”

Smirking, he shook his head. “Only if you keep posing for me. Now come on,” he held out his hand and stood up. “It's time to celebrate, birthday girl.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes and asked playfully, “Do I get a party hat?”

“No, sorry—no hat. But I did bring games,” he replied and pulled her up from the bed. “Pictionary.”

Sara slapped him lightly on the arm and rolled her eyes. “Real funny. You can't play with two people.”

He started walking backwards towards the door, hands on her hips, pulling her along. “Okay, fine. No Pictionary. I suppose we'll have to find something else to entertain ourselves.”

“I suppose so,” she said, smiling bright, feeling a happiness bubbling inside of her.

Stopping them at the door, his voice softened. “Thanks for telling me about Emily. I know it wasn't easy.”

She thought about how few people she'd ever told, and how easy it _had_ been to tell him. Maybe because he'd been open with her. A lot more open than she should have expected for a guy like him.

“I couldn't be the only one with secrets.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you think you know everything about me, do you? I'll have you know that I have plenty of secrets left.”

“Oh really, like what?” she asked, trying to guess what silly thing he'd say next. Something just to make her laugh.

“Where's the fun in that?” He grinned. “Isn't a little mystery good for a relationship?” 

“Depends on the mystery. Like whether your favorite ice cream flavor is chocolate or vanilla, or-”

“My name isn't Neal Caffrey.”

Sara blinked. “What?” Okay, that she had not expected. Maybe a few weeks ago, but not today. Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if he had several aliases that he used. But he lived with this one.

“I only use it for my art. I try to keep my two lives separate,” he explained, watching her carefully.

That... she understood. She let out a sigh. He was going to give her a heart attack one day. Probably when the FBI showed up on his doorstep.

“So...” she looked at him curiously.

“Neal Bennett. Caffrey is my mother's maiden name.” He shrugged slightly. “I plan on legally changing it when I'm done breeding.”

He was still Neal. For some reason that's all she cared about. She knew he would keep certain things from her, and with good reason. Sara wasn't certain she wanted to be cognizant of some of his past crimes. But his name? It was a part of him, and that, she felt, was important to keep.

She smiled. “I can live with that.”

Neal laughed. “Afraid it was going to be something like Herbert? I'd have changed it long ago, if that were the case.” Breaking apart, he tugged her hand and they walked towards her kitchen.

“Oh and for the record, I prefer gelato, and my favorite flavor is _Bacio_ —chocolate hazelnut.”

Sara shook her head and grinned. _Only Neal..._


	5. Chapter 5

_It was hard to get excited about your day when you knew you were about to squeeze an eight pound baby out a tiny little opening that you shouldn't have to begin with. He had been both dreading and anxiously waiting for this day. His due date had come and gone four days ago, and he was way past uncomfortable and going on cranky and miserable._

_In the past few months, Neal had grown larger than he’d thought humanly possible. When he'd finally allowed Mozzie to visit during his eighth month, his friend's eyes had bugged out and he so eloquently blurted, “Holy humpback whale, you're huge!”_

_While he'd had months to ease into his new body, it was hard to reconcile the image in the mirror with the man who used to sneak through narrow air vents not so long ago. He lacked his usual grace, and forget about possessing any stealth, he waddled and bumped into everything around. There were times he'd wake up and stare at his stomach amazed, unable to believe his eyes._

_Then the baby would kick and he'd need to pee, and life resumed its slow stroll to this inevitable day._

_He'd been on bed rest for the past month, it was required of everyone, and was increasingly going stir-crazy. Even though he lacked the energy these days to swim or even walk the entire mile around campus, he wanted to stretch his legs and breathe fresh air. All meals were delivered to them, and their weekly outing to their doctor's appointment was chauffeured._

_So Neal was more than ready to have this baby._

_Most days he was too tired to do much more than a couple hours of painting and had taken to reading and watching TV... and falling asleep an hour later. Even Josh's enthusiastic game playing usually ended with him asleep and dead on the screen. Adam was fighting to stay awake during his online classes, a feat Neal could only applaud him for, memories of long coffee filled days and nights burned into his brain. He didn't think he could take one class now, much less a full course load._

_Naturally, he was terrified of actually giving birth. Adam had tried to prepare him and Josh, and they had taken birthing classes as well, but Neal knew he was no more ready to give birth than he was to pilot a fighter jet at mach 1._

_Adam had been whisked away during the middle of the night two weeks ago, and come back looking no worse for wear. Neal figured it got easier once you'd done it before, or at least he sure hoped so. Josh had delivered last week and his comment had been, “It was one hell of a ride.” He didn't take too much comfort from that considering the guy spent his days shooting monsters for fun._

_And now it was his turn. He'd been at the hospital for four hours now, and they told him he still had a ways to go. Amazing what a difference four centimeters made. It was hard to believe that the baby he’d felt moving and kicking inside him for months now would come out at all._

_This might be the natural way of things, but nothing about it felt natural to him._

_Neal hadn't been in this much pain since he was eight and had fallen off the jungle gym and broken his arm in two places. He would gladly take that now over the pain radiating through his back and abdomen every few minutes. Clutching at the railing on the wall, he breathed through his mouth slowly, waiting for the contraction to pass. Unable to stay in bed any longer, he'd been walking for the past half hour. No one batted an eye at him as he stopped and groaned nearly every time he lapped the delivery wing._

_He'd had small contractions for three hours before his water broke earlier that morning. Only then had Neal finally pushed the button on his bracelet. 'Oh, shit,' had been all that came to mind when he'd felt his soaked pants and realized he couldn't put it off any longer._

_He straightened up and resumed his slow shuffle, gripping the IV pole in one hand and his other hand cradling his stomach. It felt wrong that after nine months, he was just going to hand over this baby. He never would see the baby, much less hold it. Now, more than ever, it angered him how he was viewed, an incubator and nothing more._

_As the hours had worn on, he’d wished that just once they would look at them as human beings. Neal found out during his classes that he wouldn’t be given much pain relief. An epidural often slowed down labor, and had a whole long list of possible complications that they were not willing to risk. What Neal read into it—they didn’t want to have to resort to an emergency C-section and they were more concerned about preserving his body for his years of childbirth ahead than making it bearable for him. The drugs they did give him were mild, because anything more would reach the baby's bloodstream._

_He’d long ago given up, having no energy to fight a losing battle. It only served to upset him more, and right now, he knew he just had to get through it._

_He bent over as another contraction hit, and bit his lip to keep from crying out. Why him? He wasn’t getting anything out of this. He wouldn’t be able to proudly show off a baby to all his friends. No, he was just going to be sent back to his dorm without so much as a ‘thank you.’_

_Neal cursed his parents—for his father to be so greedy that he forced this life on his family. To have forgotten that he was hurting them as well. For his mother, who'd chosen the easy way out. Who put it all on his shoulders. They weren't there to see what they'd done to him._

_No one was. He was alone. There was no one there to help him, to distract him from the pain. No friend or loved one who could share in the joy because it wasn’t his. Science had taken that away, reducing childbirth to a clinical, medical procedure. And he was the one who had to suffer through it._

_Five hours later he was finally pushing and when he heard the wail of the baby, he nearly wept in relief. No matter how much it angered him, this life they forced on him, he had done it. Nine months ago, it had seemed impossible, a foreign and scary concept that he would give birth to this baby, that he could do it at all. But he had, there was a baby out there screaming and kicking, and it was all because of him._

_The absence of the baby inside him was bittersweet though. He ran a hand over his stomach, now only slightly rounded, and oddly missed the flutter and kick. It had been his only constant companion during the past several months. A reason to keep going, a reminder of what was at the end._

_It was hard to just give it up, to not hold it in his arms. He’d been protecting it for so long, cradling his stomach without thought, that it hurt just to walk away. But that’s what he had to do, and would have to do for years to come. He was just the womb and that’s all he would ever be._

 _*~*~*~*_

 _He'd given up his apartment when he'd left, so Mozzie said he could stay with him at one of his safehouses for the time being. But as much as Neal loved his friend, he was not the best roommate. And that said a lot, considering Neal had lived the past year with two pregnant men. The man's paranoia ran high normally, but living with it was another issue._

_Neal had to get out. He'd been taking long walks every day, just to stretch his legs and feel the freedom of going wherever he wanted. This morning he'd walked to the water, strolling through Riverside Park. It wasn't as crowded as Central Park, but there were plenty of joggers and people walking their dogs. After an hour, he settled down on a bench and stared out at the water lapping the river's edge. He'd missed this city so much._

_He never would have thought he'd miss it as much as he did. But it was his home, and it had become a part of him. Living landlocked and confined to a small campus had been the least of his worries, but it had been hard. Neal liked to expand his wings, go where the wind took him, take a sketchbook and explore the city._

_Three months wasn't enough._

_It was going to be even harder to go back next time._

_“You look like you need a hug. It's not going to disappear, I promise.”_

_Neal looked up at the soft voice. An older woman, beautiful and serene, wearing a long cashmere coat, matching scarf and soft leather gloves, stood there holding the leash to a small pug at her feet. She smiled gently._

_“I've been gone awhile,” he said and nodded out towards the water. “I've missed this.”_

_“And yet you still look so sad, as if it's going to slip through your fingers.” She sat down next to him and folded the leash in her lap._

_Neal hesitated. It was hard to explain. He never offered up this side of him to strangers. “I'm not back for long.”_

_“How long?”_

_“Three months.”_

_She hummed softly and gave him a small, knowing smile. “Well then, you must make the most of it, and when you return, the city will welcome you back with its loving arms.”_

_He wasn't so sure about that. Neal thought his heart might break next time._

_“At least you're home for the holidays.”_

_Neal had to pause at that. He hadn't given the holidays much thought, honestly. He'd been so focused on getting through his first cycle that he'd just been happy to leave._

_“I don't really have plans. My best friend says Christmas is ‘an invention of the modern retailer to coerce the public into buying their junk and increasing their profits.’”_

_She chuckled and looked out at the water. “Even if you don't celebrate the holiday, it's the season that's important. Spending time with family and friends.”_

_He'd gone home his first year of college, spent Christmas break with his aunt. They’d stayed in touch over the years, but it became harder the closer it got. She'd felt as responsible as his mother for the life imparted on him. She told him that she had tried to discourage his mother from signing him up, tried to help them out, but his mother had done it anyway._

_“You draw?” she asked, changing the subject, nodding towards the sketchbook that sat between them on the bench._

_“What?” Neal glanced down. “Oh, yeah. I'm a painter, actually.”_

_“An artist! I've love to see your work.”_

_Neal's eyes widened. He was currently living in an abandoned warehouse with Mozzie. While he'd brought some of his work back with him, Neal had sent several pieces to Mozzie to store over the past year. He hadn't even gone to pick them up since he'd returned._

_“I... I'm staying with my friend at the moment. My art's in storage.”_

_She nodded and smiled understandingly. “Ah, I see. As nice as it is that your friend is helping you out, it sounds like you're in a need of your own place. Somewhere to paint?”_

_“It's only temporary. I'll find a place soon,” he reassured her quickly._

_“I have an extra guestroom that I think you'd find perfect for your needs. Plenty of space and light. I imagine it's hard finding something for a few months,” she said calmly, as if she did this every day, inviting a stranger to live with her._

_Try next to impossible, he thought. Month to month rentals were either expensive or in the worst neighborhoods, where you felt like you needed a tetanus shot just to walk through the door. He'd given up his apartment because he'd planned to live with Kate._

_“My Byron passed away last year,” she continued. “It'd be nice to have someone in the house again.”  
Standing up, she looked down at him. “You're welcome to come take a look.”_

_“But you don't know me,” he protested, too shocked to even consider it. No one did this out of the goodness of their heart. Not in New York City. Not to a stranger they met in a park._

_She gave him a warm smile. “I have a good feeling about you. I'm rarely a bad judge of character.” She tugged at her leash. “Come on, Bugsy, let's go home.”_

_“Bugsy? As in Benjamin Siegelbaum?” He grabbed his sketchbook and stood up._

_She beamed. “See? I knew you were a kindred spirit.”_

_He followed her home, and was unable to believe his eyes when he saw the mansion. The apartment at the top was incredible. It was more than just a guest room._

_“My husband used to run a casino here, back in the day.” She pointed to the mirror above the fireplace. “That's an observation room.”_

_“I can't take this.”_

_June, as she'd introduced herself, shook her head. “Yes you can, and you will. I will not take 'no' for an answer.”_

_As he stood on the balcony looking out at the city, Neal knew he didn't deserve this. He was a criminal. Someone who conned and cheated. It wasn't right of him to be here, to take advantage of her. Turning around, he blurted out, “I'm a thief. A forger.”_

_His face flushed and he backpedaled and quickly added, “But I also paint my own stuff. I've contacted an agent to help me show my work.”_

_She smiled knowingly, but didn't appear disturbed by it. “That's a good start.”_

_A start. She was right. But he didn't know if he could ever give up the cons. They had been what set him free, allowed him to take charge of his life._

_He wanted to pay her, but she wouldn't accept it. Told him that all she wanted was a Neal Caffrey original. Neal knew he'd give that to her and more. One day he'd pay her back._

_Mozzie was surprised, and highly suspicious, but June won him over pretty quickly. He moved in the next day, and found himself sipping Italian roast coffee on the balcony with June the following morning. It felt like a dream, one that Neal didn't want to wake up from, but all he had to do was look down at his wrist and remember._

_One week later he finally told June that he was a breeder. He couldn't keep it from her. She had been sympathetic, and told him her house was open to him whenever he needed it. Neal didn't want her pity, but was too grateful for the offer. June went on to ask him about his meeting with the agent, and he realized that it really didn't matter to her. None of it did. Not that he was a con man or a breeder. She accepted him as if he was family, and that meant more to Neal than he ever could have imagined._

*~*~*~*

The next few weeks flew by for Sara. Work kept her busy, and she found herself spending most nights with Neal. Normally she'd start a relationship slow, but she'd thrown caution to the wind and jumped in headfirst, as clichéd as it sounded. She told herself it was because he had to leave soon, but subconsciously she knew that it was different this time.

Their relationship was unlike any she'd been in before. Not just because of who Neal was, but because most guys were intimidated by her. But not Neal. He practically encouraged that side of her, even teaching her how to pick handcuffs. Oh, he still had a romantic side, taking her to dinner and a play, or buying her chocolates (only the best imported from Europe). She attended the opening of his latest show and they spent Thanksgiving together—her watching the parade while he made them a gourmet meal that certainly put the normal turkey and dressing to shame.

It was casual and fun, and yet each day it felt decisively more real and serious. They didn't talk about the elephant in the room, though. They had less than a little over a month before he had to leave. If Sara were honest, she didn't know how they were going to handle it. She knew and accepted his life. He hadn't kept anything from her, but he also didn't tell her much about it.

It was all theoretical in her mind—the idea of Neal pregnant. She'd researched some and the facts were all there—morning sickness, weight gain and childbirth. But actually _picturing_ Neal pregnant was another issue entirely. He talked about it so matter-of-factly that it seemed like he thought of it as something normal. And perhaps it was to him now. But for her, she knew it would be quite an eye opener.

Sara didn't hold it against him, and wasn't put off by it. She wouldn't still be around if that were the case. In her mind, it was just something to get through. It wouldn't be easy, she knew that, but it also wasn't the end of the world.

It was a big commitment, though. She would have to make the time to visit him. If this did go somewhere, she had six years of trips to Long Island ahead of her. It scared her a little, that she was thinking so far in advance, but it wasn't fair to Neal if she didn't look ahead. She'd only have herself to blame if she didn't.

*~*~*~*

“You're taking her to _Vienna_?” Mozzie sputtered.

Neal looked at his friend calmly. “If this is your way of complaining that I don’t have any time for you any more, it's not going to work. You didn't want to go with me. As I recall, you refuse to celebrate Christmas.”

Mozzie opened his mouth and Neal held up a hand. “And I don't want to hear your rant on Christmas again, either.” His friend deflated and went for his wine glass. 

“It's just too commercial,” he muttered.

“Here in the US? Yeah, I get that. But I don't see what your problem is with Christmas markets, musical concerts and mulled wine.”

Mozzie gave him a halfhearted shrug, conceding his point. “Okay fine, maybe Europe's better and I wouldn't mind the wine.”

Neal shook his head and grinned. “Well, you're welcome to come with us.”

“And be the third wheel? No thank you.”

Neal shrugged. “Your loss.” He got up and went rummaging in his fridge for something to eat.

Mozzie put his glass down on the table and glanced at him. He hesitated slightly. “Isn't this a little fast?”

Turning around with Thai takeout, Neal raised an eyebrow. “I don't exactly have a lot of time, Moz.”

“Yes, I know that. I just mean,” Mozzie waved a hand around, “have you talked to her? _Really_ talked to her? It's all well and good that she knows the truth, and has accepted it so far, but until she experiences you in all your overweight and hormonal glory, it's just a fling.”

Neal dumped his leftovers on a plate and showed it in the microwave.

Mozzie sighed. “Hey, I'm just trying to look out for you, that's all. You swore off dating after Kate and I don't want to watch you go through that again.”

“Sara's different.”

“Yes, I'm quite aware of that, but it's still a lot to ask of her, and if you want this to work, you're going to have to prepare her. It's one thing on an intellectual level, but it's another to see you,” Mozzie waved a hand mimicking Neal's pregnant belly in the air, “you know, round.”

Neal glared at him. “Gee, thanks. I wasn't aware of that.”

“Sorry, mon frère, it's the truth. You're used to it by now, but the rest of us? It's a little much to handle.”

“You think I like dealing with it? For months at a time, I can't even see my own dick.”

A pained look crossed his face. “More than I need to know, my friend. Just... just talk to her. And if she can't handle it, then you won't have to go through that heartbreak again.”

Neal sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “As if that's any easier.”

Mozzie shook his head sadly. “I know. And I'm sorry, man. But better to rip off the band-aid than to prolong it.”

*~*~*~*

Neal knew Mozzie was right. And he had meant to talk to Sara, but it never seemed like the right time. With the holidays approaching, she was busy with work before they took off for Vienna and he was trying to enjoy the little bit of time they had left.

More importantly, he didn't want to ruin it. Kate had broken his heart, and it had hurt—badly. But this time, he felt like it could work. For one, he wasn't twenty-two and fresh out of college, looking at thirteen years of breeding ahead of him. Neal also hadn't dumped it on Sara. They were adults, and they had both gone into it with their eyes wide open.

Yet, he knew that didn't mean anything. Sara could still react the same way as Kate had. It was a hard reality to accept. It still felt strange to Neal some days and he'd already gone through it four times.

He'd seen what it did to relationships. Not just to him and Adam, but he'd met others who had lost friends and family. His friend Julia had volunteered after being unemployed for two years. She and her husband had both moved onto the campus and he commuted to the city daily. Did Neal want to do that to Sara? Another had her marriage strained by the months they were separated, and got divorced after he was transferred to the west coast.

Neal had promised himself years ago that he wouldn't put this on someone, but he'd fallen for Sara before he could stop himself. It wasn't fair to her, and quite honestly, he didn't know what to do.

In the end, he put it off, and then decided not to ruin their trip, so he waited. But his time was running out. He didn't know what scared him more—the possibility of losing her now or later.

*~*~*~*

Sara turned over, tugging the comforter closer around her shoulders. But something made her pause, even in her sleepy state. She opened her eyes and saw that she was alone in the bed. Waking up further, she pushed herself up and looked out into the loft. In the pale moonlight, she could see Neal sitting in front of the floor to ceiling windows, staring out. Glancing at the alarm clock on his nightstand, and noting the time, she wondered what he was doing up at three a.m.

They had returned to New York two days ago, and while the rest of the world was counting down to New Year’s, they were counting down to his departure. He'd been scheduled to return on New Year’s day, but he'd managed to sweet talk the coordinator to push it back one more day. It was a holiday after all.

With only three days until he left, she knew it was weighing heavily on him. He barely talked about it, and had clamped down when she brought it up briefly before their trip. So she said nothing and instead chose to enjoy the holiday. They couldn't ignore it forever, though.

Sliding out of bed, she looked around for her robe then opted to just wrap the comforter around her. It was cold in the airy loft. She padded out with the comforter trailing behind her, dragging on the floor. 

“Neal?” she called out softly as she neared him. He looked so lost in thought, she almost didn't want to disturb him.

He looked up surprised to see her standing there. “Sara! Did I wake you?”

She shook her head and settled down on the floor next to him. “No, but I did notice the bed was decidedly colder without a certain someone.” Sara held out the comforter, and he shook his head.

“Sorry about that.”

“It's fine. So what woke you up so early? Still on Austrian time?” She bumped his shoulder playfully and he smiled softly.

“No, not quite. Just couldn't sleep.” He glanced out the window. “Too much on my mind.”

Sara paused, following his gaze, looking out at the city lit up in front of them. She couldn't imagine uprooting her life every year. But he needed to know he wasn't alone this time. They had put it off for long enough, but it was time to talk.

“I shouldn't have done this,” he said suddenly, surprising her.

She looked at him concerned, something about his tone had her worried. “Done what?”

“Put this on you. Years ago, I promised myself I wouldn't do it to anyone, put them through this.” His voice cracked, but he still didn't look at her. “I haven't been in a relationship since.”

Sara felt her heart catch in her throat. Her fingers clenched tightly at the edges of the comforter and she tugged it around her tighter. She understood his fears, but she wasn’t ready to lose him now. “Neal, I didn’t jump into this blind. I knew what I was getting into.”

He shook his head. “You don’t. It’s… it's not pretty. And I still have years to go. You shouldn’t have to wait on me.”

“It’s not waiting if I’m in it with you—together. That’s a relationship. As for the rest? Well, life isn’t pretty. If you’re scared I’m going to freak out, then prepare me. I want to hear it— _all_ of it. Let me decide. But I can tell you this, I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

She paused then grinned and shrugged lightly. "Besides, I like being the prettier one."

Neal let out a short laugh and turned to face her. He hesitated a second. “Kate said she’d be okay with it too. But she bolted as soon as she saw the reality."

“She was your college girlfriend, right?” Sara asked, and Neal nodded. “And she was what, twenty-two? Just graduated from college? That was a lot for her, and honestly I can’t blame her.”

She sighed, and reached for his hand. “I know it hurt, but Neal, were you even ready? I mean, you knew for years, but I bet it was still terrifying for you. Both of you were young, and I can tell you at that age, I wasn’t ready for a long term relationship. I was just trying to find my way in the world.”

The air hung heavy in the stillness of the night, and neither one said anything for a moment. She held her breath waiting, afraid she wouldn't be able to change his mind, that this was it.

“I just…” he took a deep breath. “I just thought if I could keep her, I could pretend that I still had a normal life. That it didn’t matter. But it did, and she couldn’t look at me, couldn’t _touch_ me.”

“Hey, look at me,” she said softly. He looked up at her, and her heart broke at the pain in his eyes. “Are any of us really normal? I can tell you that I get bored with normal. I mean, look at what I do for a living! Most guys, once they start to see who I really am, run the other way, because I’m not your average girl. Quite frankly, I think that’s why we work so well together.”

Really, that was the truth of the matter. They _were_ good together. She still couldn’t explain why she’d fallen for a guy like him, but she had, and he had opened himself up to her when he should have been fleeing the country.

“So, lay it on me, because I’m not letting you walk away from this.”

For the next hour he told her everything. Sara listened patiently, stopped him only a few times to ask questions. She’d already read about a lot of it, but hearing it from him rather than a clinical website brought it to life. He opened up about how hard it was to hear the baby's heartbeat, and later feel it kick, only to give it up without ever seeing it. He didn't mince words, telling her what he went through, and what to expect as hormones raged rampant in him, and sent him on rollercoasters of highs and lows.

She didn't let go of his hand and silently offered him the love and support he obviously needed. He was close to breaking, and it hurt to watch him so scared to open up and share a side he normally kept away from everyone.

When they returned to bed, and he wrapped his arms around her tighter than normal, she said nothing of it. Neal was right, it wasn’t going to be pretty or easy, but if anything she’d learned over the years, nothing ever was.

~ Fin ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has given this fic a chance, and came along for the ride. I do have one timestamp, another in the works, and a huge sequel that I hope to finish this summer. We will get to see more of our favorite characters show up and some plot. So keep an eye out!


End file.
